


To the Ends of the Earth

by Timmins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Romance, relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2018-11-12 23:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 66,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11172687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timmins/pseuds/Timmins
Summary: Lily and James's story from fifth year until their graduation.** On chapters with violence in them, I will forewarn, and put a chapter summary in the notes at the end if you want to skip over.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> I own nothing. All credits to JKR. Also, from the beginning of this chapter up until when McGonagall shows up is almost a direct quotation from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, pages 571-572. Basically, the dialogue. That dialogue is all JKR’s. Also, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. You’re the best!

**_PROLOGUE_ **

 

**_\- ONE -_ **

 

_…now impossible to deny the threat posed by You-Know-Who. By decree of the current Minister of Magic, Harold Minchum, the Wizarding World is now engaged in a civil war for moral integrity…_

_~ Excerpt from an article in the Daily Prophet_

 

_June, 1976_

**JAMES**

“I’ll let him go if you go out with me, Evans.” I wince internally even as the words leave my mouth, but I force a smirk. Merlin, I’m a desperate git. Can’t let her see how weak she makes me. Not that she doesn’t already know. “Go on… go out with me and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.” My whole attention is fixed on Evans. I know Sirius’s got an eye on Snape to make sure I don’t get a hex to the back.

I know what her response will be before it even leaves her mouth. “I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid.”

“Bad luck, Prongs.” Sirius is brisk and businesslike, brushing over the snub as though it doesn’t sting horribly, even though he knows it does. “OI!”

I turn to see that Snape is back on the move, grabbing for his wand and aiming it straight at me. I’m moving before the spell even leaves his wand, ducking out of the way as the flash sails right by my face, opening a gash along my cheekbone. It spurts, sending scarlet droplets splattering over my robes. Snarling, I whip my wand up and a simple flick leaves Snape hanging upside down in the air.

I feel a bubble of satisfaction rise in my chest as our audience laughs and cheers, Snape’s robes falling down over his head to reveal pale, scabby legs, knock knees, and a pair of pants that might have once been white, but are now grey with age.

I turn to grin at Sirius and see Evans glaring mightily at me. Oops.

“Let him down.” She doesn’t say it with as much venom as usual, and I can’t help wonder if she’s happy I dodged that spell. It was clearly meant to hurt me.

“Certainly,” I reply with a slight bow, my spectacles slipping ever so slightly down my nose as I do. I jerk my wand again, letting Snivellus fall none to gently to the ground. He lands in a heap, struggling to straighten himself out. As soon as his wand is free, he’s aiming at me again, opening his mouth to send another barrage of curses towards me, but Sirius is faster.

“Petrificus Totalus,” he says, almost lazily, and Snape stiffens, falling flat on his face and prompting another roar of laughter from the gathered students. I can’t help but grin. Merlin, it’s easy.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” I turn to Evans, a quip on the tip of my tongue, but it dries up when I see her wand pointing directly at my chest. Sirius gives me a wary glance. After five years with this girl, we both know that the last place you want her wand is pointed at you.

I sigh mightily, refusing to buckle in front of this crowd. “Ah, Evans,” I say, “don’t make me hex you.”

Her glare strengthens. “Take the curse off him, then.”

I’m about to point out that the last time I released him, he tried to kill me, but stop myself, knowing what she’ll say. _Why don’t you just let him so we can all get on with our lives?_

Or something to that effect.

“Finite Incantatem,” I mutter, waving my wand in Snape’s direction. He relaxes instantly and pushes himself to his feet with much effort. His stick-thin arms are shaking but with either rage or exhaustion, I don’t know which. Or care.

“There you go,” I say cheerfully. “You’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus–”

“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her.” My stomach drops and my mind goes blank. My brain registers Remus’ sharp intake of breath and the fact that Evans is saying something, but I can’t hear what it is.

My wand is rising, pointing at the bastard’s jugular and distantly, I hear myself demand an apology. I only snap out it when Evans rounds on _me._

“I don’t want you to make him apologise.” I wonder if she knows her eyes are swimming. “You’re as bad as he is.”

Her words are like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head and I can’t help but gape at her. “What? I’d _never_ call you a… a you-know-what!”

Evans’s eyes are blazing and her cheeks are flushed with anger. “Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can.” I didn’t know she paid that much attention to me. “I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me _sick_.”

Now I’m angry. “Evans!” I yell as she turns to walk away. She doesn’t react. “Hey, _Evans!_ ” She disappears into the crowd of students. I turn to Sirius. I choke out a laugh and pull my hand through my hair. “What is it with her?” I try to play it cool, to pass it off as a joke, but his look of sympathy tells me it doesn’t work.

“Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate.” Peter won’t look at me, and Remus is giving me that stupid sad puppy look. That’s when I remember our audience.

“Right,” I say, trying to regain my composure. “Right.” My fury means it takes almost no effort to send a non-verbal Levicorpus at Snivellus. I always get a sense of vicious satisfaction when I use one of his own spells against him. It took the git forever to learn to only use non-verbal spells on us. And by then, we already knew his tricks.

I turn back to my audience with a showman’s grin. “Now then, who wants to see me take off Snivelly’s pants?” The gathered students roar in appreciation as I raise my wand. I take a breath to cast the spell, and–

"POTTER!” Pox. “Mr. Potter, release Mr. Snape this instant!” Double pox.

 

**SIRIUS**

I turn warily to see Professor McGonagall pushing her way through the crowd. How she always manages to show up just when things are getting good, I’ll never know. Nerves start to bubble in my stomach as she gets closer. I’ve never seen her this angry before. Not even when I released a polecat in her office and it destroyed half our year’s midterm exams.

“You should be ashamed. All of you!” Two red spots glow on her cheeks as she practically quivers with fury. “Participating in this sort of activity… I am disgusted with you, especially those of you in my house. I expect more from Gryffindor students.” Professor McGonagall has reached us by now and is standing in the clear area at the centre of the crowd. “All of you go to your dormitories at once and ten points each from your houses!”

At that, some of the assembled students cry out in protest. They weren’t doing anything, some of them call, they were just watching!

“That’s enough! Go to your dormitories now, before I take more points!”

The still grumbling crowd begins to disperse. Even though we know it’s futile, James and I try to melt into the group, but McGonagall’s voice stops us.

“Not you, Potter. I want to see you and Mr. Black in my office. Now.” James glances back sheepishly and my stomach twists again. “Mr. Lupin.” Remus stops packing his bags looking up at her with a slightly guilty expression. McGonagall just shakes her head sadly. “You’ve disappointed me, Remus. I thought you were better than this. Allowing such behaviour to go on in front of you. I expected far more from you.” Remus blushes scarlet and looks down. Peter, who is standing next to Remus, mutters something to him and pats his arm consolingly but Remus shrugs him off.

McGonagall turns and starts walking back to the castle. James and I hurriedly grab our bags and run after her, knowing, from past experience, that she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

Professor McGonagall is silent as she leads us through the school halls to her office. I have a feeling that we crossed a line today, and a glance at James tells me he knows it too. He’s fiddling with his spectacles and tugging at his hair so much that he looks like a hedgehog. I almost tell him that, but then think better of it. Making jokes might push McGonagall over the edge.

Once in the office, we take a seat in the two uncomfortable wooden chairs in front of her desk, while McGonagall sits in her chair. She glares stonily at us over the rims of her spectacles. My stomach is a squirming mass of wriggling worms.

“I never thought I would see the day when James Potter and Sirius Black became tormentors. Pranksters, with a bit of light bullying thrown into the mix, certainly.” Despite the light words, her tone tells us that she greatly disapproves. “But intentionally causing another student a trauma so severe that it will scar them for the rest of their lives?” She shakes her head, her mouth tightening into a thin line. “I am disgusted. Explain yourselves.”

I glance over at James in dismay. There isn’t an explanation to give. We weren’t provoked, we weren’t defending someone’s honour, and there’s no way we can fib our way out of this because there are so many witnesses. Somehow, harmless amusement had taken a very dark turn. We were bored. And Snivellus squealed when we poked him. It was kind of funny, actually.

Professor McGonagall continues to stare at us in stony silence, waiting for an answer. Finally, I muster up the courage to mutter a small, “Sorry Professor.”

McGonagall stares at me until I begin to fidget, picking at a loose thread on the hem of my sleeve. She clearly interprets this to mean, quite correctly, that there is no explanation. I can tell that we’ve just lost any good will that we used to have and it will take a hell of a lot to get it back.

She turns to James, waiting for him to speak. He gulps and adjusts his spectacles. “We don’t have an excuse for starting it–“ he starts, but McGonagall interrupts him.

“So you were going to undress the poor boy in front of all of Hogwarts because you had nothing better to do?” she asks in disbelief.

An angry blush is turning his ears scarlet.  I almost roll my eyes. How hopeless can he be to get angry just thinking of someone disrespecting the chit? “No, I was going to undress him because he called Evans a–” James pauses, having difficulty saying the word, “a you-know-what,” he finishes uncomfortably.

“No, Potter, I don’t ‘know-what’.”

“A – Well, um,” James takes a breath to steady himself. Who would have thought that it would be so hard to say that one damn word? It’s said every day in my family. “He called her–” James pauses again, and I know that he’ll never be able to get it out.

“Mudblood. He called her a Mudblood.” James shoots me a small, grateful smile.

McGonagall’s mouth tightens at the word. “While I can in no way condone the use of that term, it does not, in any way, excuse your actions. Is that your only explanation?”

"Yes.”

“Very well. One hundred points from Gryffindor house.”

“ _One hundred_ _points_!” I stare at her in disbelief.

“Each. And two months detention. Be grateful it isn’t more. If Evans hadn’t warned me to come down immediately and I had found Mr. Snape stripped, I would have had you both expelled and your wands snapped.” I gulp. She would have, too. McGonagall doesn’t make idle threats. “I am giving you the benefit of the doubt, and believing that had I not come, you would have come to your senses and stopped yourselves.”

We’re silent for a moment, James glaring at the floor, and my brain whirling quickly. “Sorry, Professor,” I say carefully. James glares over at me, certain I’m about to make the situation even worse. I’m not sure I won’t. “But did you say _two months_ of detention?” James’s eyes light up.

McGonagall’s lips tighten. “Yes, Mr. Black, I did.”

“But, Professor,” James ventures, catching on, “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but school ends in three days, and we have OWLs. I thought that teachers weren’t allowed to give fifth and seventh year students detentions during exams. And anyways, we aren’t here for two months.”

“I know that, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall says, overly patient. “You will begin your detentions in September, and we will decide what they are at that point.”

James and I glance at each other in dismay. September is usually a clean slate – carrying over detentions will completely destroy that illusion.

“That is all. You may go.”

 “ _One hundred points_ Prongs!” I hiss as soon as we’re out of McGonagall’s office. “ _And_ two months detention!! The Gryffindors are gonna _kill_ us! We were so close to the Puff’s in house points. This’ll even drop us back behind Slytherin!”

“I know, Padfoot, I know. But there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“‘Cept take the mickey outa Evans.”

James stops to glare at me. “Don’t you dare. I know she turned us in, but she’s still, well, you know. And today has to have been hard for her anyways, what with Snivelly going rogue. She’s probably really freaked about the Transfiguration O.W.L. tomorrow too. She doesn’t need us ribbing her for being a good Prefect.”

“You call that being a good Prefect?” I demand incredulously. James’s Evans Spectacles are getting out of hand.  “Moony’s a good Prefect. He doesn’t turn his mates in for a bit of harmless fun.”

“That’s just it though. We’re not Evans’s mates, and it wasn’t really harmless. If we had actually, you know, _stripped_ Snivellus, he would probably have been too embarrassed to ever show his face in public again.”

“Then why the hell didn’t we?” James can’t help but grin at that. “We would never have to see him again, he wouldn’t be standing in between you and Evans anymore–”

“He may have taken care of that himself, when he called her the ‘M’ word.”

“True. But there’s also a very, very, _very_ good reason to permanently scar him.”

 “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“If he never shows his face again, he’ll have a hard time being a Death Eater.”

James’s smile fades at the mention of the war and he only grunts in response.


	2. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. All credits to JKR. Also, Lily’s conversation with Severus is almost a direct quotation from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, page 542. Also, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Prologue **

**_\- TWO -_ **

 

_…In light of this newest decree by the Minister, we here at the Prophet have decided to dedicate a new section to our fallen and missing comrades. This section, to be titled,_ In Memorandum _, will be updated daily as we strive to bring you the most up-to-date information on your fallen family and friends…_

_~ Excerpt from an article in the Daily Prophet_

 

**LILY**

Alice Payne is the one who finds me. It’s always Alice. I’m sort of glad it is. I love Mary to bits, but Alice is more grounded, and when you’re in a funk, grounding is what you need.

But not right now. What I need right now is peace and quite and space. I take one look at Alice when she walks through the Astronomy Tower door and know that there’s no way in hell she’ll leave me alone. She has her hands are on her hips and her jaw set in that stupid stubborn way. She rarely puts them there, usually they’re crossed or at her sides.

She takes a step towards me, and I scramble to my feet, slinging my book bag over one shoulder and wincing as I trap my hair under it in my hurry to escape. Alice barely lets me take two steps towards the door before she blocks my path. I glare at her. She ignores me.

“Look, Lily,” Alice starts, “I know that you must be upset, but you did know this would happen eventually.”

“No, I didn’t,” I say stubbornly, even though I did know. In truth, Sev and I hadn’t been normal for a while. Not since Potter got really insistent, anyhow.

Alice rolls her eyes. She does that a lot. “I know he means a lot to you,” she says with exaggerated patience, “but this _is_ Severus Snape. Remember what he did to Mary in fourth year?”

 “That wasn’t Sev, that was Mulciber.” Why am I defending him? It’s almost a reflex now. “And you never understood my friendship with him. Now please, move so I can go to the Common Room.”

“No, Lily, we need to talk about this. Look, I understood your friendship – I just really didn’t like it. What I don’t understand is the way you treated Potter today.”

I give her the most poisonous glare I can. “I don’t want to talk about that egotistical prick.”

Alice glares back. “He stood up for you when Snivellus–”

“Don’t call him that.” I barely even register saying it; it really is just a habit now, after saying it for five years.

“You can’t say that anymore because _you_ called him Snivellus!” I glare at her again. “Fine, Potter tried to make _Severus_ ,” she amends, “take back calling you a Mudblood.”

“So?”

“Remember two weeks ago when Dylin Penny knocked you down in the hallway and laughed? Well, he ended up in the Hospital Wing because Potter ‘accidentally’ flew to close to him in the last Quidditch game and Penny fell off his broom and broke his legs. And when Leroy Hambeldon tried to get you to sleep with him at the first Quidditch party of the year? Well, he ended up going to St. Mungo’s because of some undetermined mix of four invented hexes that none of the teachers could undo. Mulciber and Avery have ended up jinxed every time they called you Mudblood, and they turned Malfoy’s precious hair pink after what he did in third year, _and_ what happened to Lestrange in second. Oh, and then there was also–”

“What’s your point, Alice?” I demand, feeling a hot flush creeping across my face.

Alice settles her arms into their usual crossed position. “What will it take for you to admit that James Potter loves you, that you love him, and that you two belong together?”

My stomach turns and I feel the blush darken. “I don’t like him Alice, let alone love him,” I snap. “He is a stupid, arrogant, egotistical bully. Oh, I know that he has a noble streak.” Unfortunately, he actually does. “I’ve seen it when people threaten his friends, mostly Lupin and Pettigrew. But that does not make up for the rest of his horrible personality. He’s a stalker and a creep and I want nothing to do with him. Ever.” I push past a gaping Alice and escape down the tower stairs.

 

I spend the rest of the day studying in the common room. When I look up, two hours have passed since dinner and I’m alone except for a small study group by the fire. I roll my neck, sighing in satisfaction as it pops. As I twist my back to stretch it out, the study group’s conversation reaches me.

“-and since an inanimate doesn’t have a _solarius_ , it makes it relatively easier to transfigure it into an animate.” The boy’s voice is familiar, but something about it seems odd, not letting my brain connect the voice with the words. “The animates, though, have _solaryi_ , which means that it is more difficult to transfigure them into an inanimate due to the fact that _solaryi_ are foreign to the inanimate. Dervishire realized that, and so developed the Solariax Principle. It’s simple!”

“Yes, Prongs, it’s very wonderful that you can quote the textbook verbatim, but that won’t help Wormtail in the slightest. Actually, you’re confusing me and I _understand_ the Principle.”

I feel my eyes widen to saucer-like dimensions. Even though Lupin identified the original speaker as Potter, it’s hard to believe that he’d spoken so intelligently. That’s why I hadn’t recognized the voice as his. That voice and those words didn’t fit together. Although, he _is_ usually near the top of the class…

I lean out of my alcove a bit as Black says, “Yeah, mate. And what the hell is a solari-thingy anyways?”

Potter groans and runs his hands through his hair in distress. “I _just_ explained that!”

“Well explain it again. In English this time!” Black sounds almost as exasperated as Potter.

Potter sighs, pushes his spectacles back up his nose, and leans forwards, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Okay. A _solarius_ is a soul, as in the inner-most incarnation of each animate thing. _Solaryi_ is plural for _solarius_.” With a jolt, I realize that Potter is explaining the last concept that I don’t understand, and that so far, he seems to be making sense of it. I grab for my quill and start taking notes.

“In Transfiguration, to be classified as animate, an object has to have a beating heart. Plants grow and move, but since they don’t have hearts, they are classified as inanimate. Now, because an inanimate doesn’t have a soul, when you transfigure one into an animate, they become sort of like self-cleaning pots. The pots realize when they are dirty, and they clean themselves. The inanimate-animates realize when they are hungry, and they eat. But they don’t think. Our _solarius_ is in charge of thinking, and inanimate-animates don’t have souls.”

“Wait,” Black interrupts, “inanimate-animate?”

“An inanimate-animate is an inanimate object that has been transfigured into an animate. An animate-inanimate is an animate object that has been transfigured into an inanimate. What it was is first, and what it changed to is last. Anything else before I move on?” When the other three remain silent, Potter leans back, closes his eyes, and continues.

“Okay. Animate objects have _solaryi_. This means that when you transfigure them into inanimates, the _solarius_ has to go somewhere. What ends up happening is that the _solarius_ ends up in this sort of in-between place. It’s tethered to its host–”

“Host?” Pettigrew is the one asking for clarification this time.

“Dervishire believed in re-incarnation. He thought that bodies were simply vessels hosting the immortal _solaryi_ , believing that a _solarius_ was akin to a lost angel.”

“Right.”

“So the _solarius_ ends up in the in-between place. It’s tethered to its host – it’s original body, whatever shape it’s in, as long as it’s not destroyed, of course – but it’s almost frozen in time. It becomes unaware of time passing until the animate-inanimate is transfigured back into an animate form. That is the basis behind the principle. Do you all understand?”

Pettigrew slowly shakes his head.

Potter groans again. “What don’t you understand?”

“Most of it.”

Potter takes a moment to calm himself before answering with a condescending smile. “Well, see if you can get it this way. Once upon a time, four friends decided to become Animagi, a process that uses some of Dervishire's philosophies. Let's call the four boys Hartley, Dogbert, Wulfric, and Rattigan.” Black and Lupin snort with laughter and even Pettigrew grins. “Rattigan was a nervous little boy who could turn into a rat with a wormy little tail.

“Now,” Potter continues, “when Hartley, Dogbert, and Rattigan first transformed on the day before the September full moon, they all had some difficulty. Hartley, of course, transformed first–”

“Oi! Why’s it so obvious that y- _Hartley_ transformed first?”

Potter laughs at Black’s tone. “Because he was the smartest and best looking!”

Black opens his mouth to argue but Pettigrew cuts in. “Don’t start. I want to know what happens next!” The other three boys roar with laughter at that, and Pettigrew flushes. Personally, I don’t see what’s so funny.

“Okay, okay. So Hartley transformed first into his animal, a beautiful, strong, noble–”

“Not to mention modest,” Lupin mutters.

Potter grins, and continues, “A stag. HartleyProngs transformed into a stag. The next one to manage it was Dogbert. He transformed into a ragged, patchy, mangy–” Black’s face flushes crimson while Lupin and Pettigrew start laughing again.

“Come on, tell it seriously.”

“Only for you, mate,” Potter says with a wink. “Okay, Dogbert transformed into a hulking, insanely strong, absolutely stunning, sleek black dog. Wulfric, even though he was feeling really ill, had come to watch the others transform. Now, while Hartley and Dogbert were frisking about in happiness, Wulfric stayed by Rattigan to try and help him to change. Eventually Dogbert and Hartley stopped frisking–”

Black mutters something about never frisking in his life but Potter only smirks at him and continues the story:

“And they came back so that they could also help little Ratty. Rattigan had started to worry that if he ever did manage to transform, he would transform into a book or a piece of fluff or something equally useless. Finally, Rattigan was able to transform into a nice, little, wormy-tailed brown rat. The next night, all four friends frisked to their hearts content and were happy forever more. And little Rattigan could transform into a rat whenever he wanted. Does anyone know why Rattigan transformed into a rat and not piece of fluff?” Potter looks pointedly at Pettigrew.

“Because an Animagi transformation can only be from one animal form into another?” Pettigrew says uncertainly.

“And what kind of transfiguration would Animagi be classified as, going by Dervishire’s terms? One souled creature into another?”

Again, they all look at Pettigrew. “Animate-animate?”

“There you go, Petey. I knew you weren’t really that thick! Okay and back to the principle.” I jolt, almost tipping my inkwell as I remember what the conversation had originally been about. I had been drawn in just listening to Potter’s voice. It’s actually sort of a nice voice when he’s not flinging curses or flirting or pestering or– I cut off that thought. I could go on forever thinking about all of Potter’s unpleasant qualities.

Potter adjusts his spectacles and leans forward again. “The Solariax Principle basically says that it is harder to transfigure an animate into an inanimate than it is to transfigure an inanimate into an animate. Can anyone tell me why?”

Again, Potter, Black, and Lupin all look over at Pettigrew who remains silent. Finally he looks looked up and says, “Is it because it takes more energy and power to freeze the soul than to create the appearance of life?”

“Yes!” Potter cheers. “Finally! Thank. Merlin. Now I am going to bed and I don’t care if we _were_ supposed to plan the next full moon. I have an exam tomorrow that I _have_ to ace, otherwise McGonagall will still hate me in September. Good night!”

The other three boys follow him up the stairs soon after, still laughing at Potter’s dramatics.

I gather my things together. With that principle cleared up, I’ve got nothing left to study. I’m still somewhat amused by Potter’s antics, despite myself, and I can’t help wondering what the hell he’d meant about the full moon. I’m a prefect. If he’s doing something against the rules (again) I really should try to stop him.

I’m still thinking as I dump my books on top of the chest at the end of my bed and slip into my nightdress. All of sudden, I’m exhausted. It’s been a _really_ long day and I just want to sleep, but as soon as I curl up on my bed, Mary McDonald comes into the room.

“Lily?” she whispers and tentatively peers through the hangings, whispering, “ _Lily_ ,” more forcibly.

I roll over and glare at her. “What?”

 “I’m sorry, but Severus Snape is standing outside the portrait hole and he won’t leave until he sees you. He says he’ll sleep in the hallway if he needs to.”

“Let him.”

“Please go see him, Lily? It’s really creepy to think that there’s a Slytherin sleeping outside the portrait hole. And what if Potter and Black see him? Do honestly want that?”

“Fine. I’ll go see what he wants,” I groan, dragging myself out of bed and pulling on a dressing gown. I pad down the stairs and through the deserted Common Room. I have to take a few steading breaths to compose myself before cautiously stepping out of the portrait hole and into the corridor beyond.

“Lily!”

I sigh. I’d half hoped that he wouldn’t be there. “What do you want Severus?”

“I'm sorry. Really sorry, Flower. You know I didn’t mean it.” Sev says, sounding genuine.

When he uses my childhood nickname, I almost give in. I want to so badly, but… “I'm not interested.”

“I _am_ sorry!”

“Save your breath,” I say, crossing my arms to keep from hugging him. He looks so sad and pathetic. All I ever want to do is comfort him. “I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here.”

“I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just–”

“Slipped out?” I try to make my voice as hard and unforgiving as I can. I’ve had a lot of practice with it, talking to Potter. “It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends–” Sev looks down, and I can’t help the small incredulous smile tugging at my lips. “See? You don't even deny it!” I want him to. I want him to so badly. “You don't even deny that's what you're all aiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?”

Severus opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it without speaking.

I shake my head and start to turn away. “I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine.”

“No–” Severus reaches out, as though to grab my arm, “listen, I didn't mean– “

“–to call me Mudblood?” I spit out, turning to glare at him, “But you call every one of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?”

He struggles on the verge of speech, but I can’t keep standing here watching him. My fury is quickly fading, leaving me feeling tired and sad. I murmur the password and climb back through the portrait hole.

Inside, I close my eyes and lean against the wall. That was harder than I thought it would be. I feel tears trail down my cheek. I didn’t know I was so close to tears. At least they waited until I was away from him to fall. I push off the wall and open my eyes to see James Potter, outlined against the fireplace, watching me sadly.

“What do _you_ want?” I ask, not at all in the mood to deal with the prick.

Potter turns and picks up his Transfiguration textbook, which he had left lying on the coffee table earlier. He starts towards the stairs, but pauses at the bottom and turns around, “I’m sorry you lost your best friend,” he says with so much sincerity and honesty that it’s impossible not to believe him. He pauses, adding, “it sucks,” and quickly turning, going back up the stairs to his dorm room before I can even really register what he’s said.

 

**SEVERUS**

She walked away. How could she walk away from me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love it if you took one second and reviewed. You can write one word or one hundred, I just like hearing what you think!  
> Timmins


	3. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. All credits to JKR. Also, Lily’s conversation with Severus is almost a direct quotation from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, page 542. Also, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Prologue **

- ** _THREE_** -

 

_…Albus Dumbledore, who serves as both the Supreme Mugwump of the international Confederation of Wizards and the Chief Warlock of our own Wizengamot, has weighed in on Minister Minchum’s declaration of war, pledging his support to the campaign and assuring the population that this conflict will have no effect Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, of which he is also Headmaster. Mr. Dumbledore assures us that all precautions possible will be taken to ensure the safety of the young students in attendance, both now and in the year to come. “It is my personal opinion,” he says, “that nothing could be more harmful to the students than a complete upheaval of their way of life and their routines. It is best that they try to live their lives as normally as they can before they are required to brave this tumultuous new world.” We feel that Mr. Dumbledore…_

_~ Excerpt from an article in the Daily Prophet_

 

**JAMES**

On the last day of exams, I wake up to Sirius slamming his way into our room, a furious look on his face as he throws a copy of the Prophet onto his bed.

I sit up, rubbing gunk from my eyes before pushing my spectacles on. “What’s happened?” I ask around a yawn. Remus, sitting on his bed and reviewing for his Ancient Runes final, shrugs without looking up. Peter’s nowhere to be seen.

Sirius ignores me, taking one of his pillows and hurling it at a window, the pillow _thwump-_ ing uselessly into the glass before falling to the floor.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Tantrums are fine, but words are much more useful,” I goad. Sirius’s next throw hits me in the face. I throw it back at him, but miss, instead knocking Remus’s inkbottle onto his notes.

He swears violently and hurries to spell away the liquid before it makes a permanent mess. He looks over at Sirius with a look that could kill. “Stop being a child and talk. Either that or take this somewhere else. You may be done, but I’ve still got an exam this afternoon. I’d rather like to still be prefect next year.”

Sirius sneers. “Botching one exam won’t ruin you for Prefect, Moons. You’re the perfect one. Who else would they pick?”

Remus narrows his eyes. “Jabbing at me won’t fix your problem, whatever it is.”

“Come on,” I prod. “What happened?” He picks up the prophet and throws it to me.

Remus comes over as I straighten it out.

 

_ DEATH EATERS ATTACK BELFAST IRELAND _

_ Ministry scrambles to account for disaster _

_The Death Eaters are not a new threat. It has already been six years since their first appearance outside the Ministry’s visitor’s entrance, a clear show of force and a demonstration of the ease with which they could access the Ministry buildings should they so choose. Since then, their numbers have only grown, their attacks becoming increasingly violent as the years progress. This latest attack, however, shows a drastic increase in boldness on their part._

_Yesterday, June 5 th, at 11:00 pm, a team of four Death Eaters beset the Chlorane Bar on Gresham Street in Belfast, Northern Ireland. The Chlorane Bare is famous for being one of the few mixed muggle and wizarding bars, successfully combining our two worlds in one place. Upon entering the bar, the Death Eaters separated the muggles and the magical folk, before methodically executing them. _

_The bodies of the five muggles were left in the bar along with the pure- and half-blood witches and wizards. The Death Eaters took three wizards of muggle-decent when they left. At this point, they are presumed dead._

_The Ministry of Magic is pooling its departmental resources to address this latest attack. They have already attributed it to the violent religious rift that Ireland is experiencing, but that cannot stop us from asking: What else are they doing?_

_At this point, the Ministry is focusing solely on hiding the true nature of the attack from the muggles, but they have been entirely ineffective in finding and identifying the Death Eaters among us._

_If these events continue, it is only a matter of time before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named takes complete control of our world, and obliterates all of those who do not meet his supremacist ideals._

 

At this point, I have to stop. The remainder of the article is a call to arms, but I can’t keep reading it.

“How does this keep happening?” I growl.

“Bugger if know,” Sirius spits, kicking his bed frame. “And guess what? I’m going to have to go home and listen to my entire family treat this like some grotesque success. Like this is something to celebrate. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Lestranges’ throw a ball.”

“How you survive every summer, I will never understand,” Remus says quietly, folding the paper gently and placing it on my bedside table.

“I don’t think I can keep doing it for much longer,” Sirius mutters, sitting down on his bed. As the fight drains out of him, I can’t help but notice how tired he looks, black shadows bruising the skin under his eyes. “I don’t think I can survive this summer.”

“What are you saying?” I ask, frowning.

Sirius shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about trying to write to Annie. See if she’ll let me stay with her over the summer.”

“Annie?” Remus asks.

“You know, my cousin. Andromeda Tonks? But she’s just had a kid, so I doubt she’ll want me around as well.”

“If you want, I could talk to Mum. I’m sure it’d be fine for you to stay with us,” I suggest.

Sirius looks up gratefully. “D’you think?”

“Yeah.” I give him a smirk. “You know she loves you. More than me, sometimes.”

“Now that’s stupid,” Remus says with a grin. “No one loves Padfoot more than you. That’s why _you_ always get the girl.”

Sirius groans and grabs his second pillow to throw at Remus. “One time! One time a girl picked him over me, and you just can’t let me forget it!”

“Well maybe if your head weren’t so big, we would,” Remus retorts, throwing the pillow back.

I chuckle. “I’ll write Mum.”

 

Sirius gets more and more agitated as the rest of the day goes by without word. 

Sirius sits down on the bench beside me at breakfast the next morning, his face white and pinched. “Hey. Don’t worry,” I say, knocking him with my elbow. “Everything will work out.”

Sirius gives me a wan smile. “Oh, I know. I just didn’t get enough beauty sleep last night.”

“Sure,” I laugh. “That’s why you’re pale. Because you didn’t get enough sleep. Nothing at all to do with the fact that you’re nervous!”

“Well, I also didn’t eat much last night. That could be it.”

I just grin as Remus and Peter slide onto the bench across from us. I discreetly examine Remus. The full moon is only a few nights away.

“How’re you feeling today?” I ask casually, trying to mask my concern with nonchalance.

“Fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes…”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“It’s just a headache. It’s nothing.”

Sirius starts to put some toast onto his plate. “Do you have to go home right away? You could come and spend the moon at Potter Manor. Wormtail’ll probably stop by, won’t you Worms?”

“If I can get my mum to agree.”

“See? Whadda you say Moony?”

“We have a really nice forest behind the manor,” I tempt.

Remus sighs. “I’ll see. My parents might want me home,” he says, just as someone across the room yells, “Post!”

We aren’t waiting long before I see Fallow, the family owl, swoop and drop a letter onto my lap. Sirius watches me nervously as I rip it open and read its contents.

“What?” he asks when I don’t react. I hesitate and then hand it to him, watching as he scans it, and then smiles broadly. “Oh, thank Merlin,” he breathes, as I smile back. “This is going to the best summer ever.”

 

**LILY**

The crowd on Platform 9 ¾ is as thick as ever and I have to fight my way through the throng of parents. Mary, Alice and I say our goodbyes in the compartment. They’re spending the summer traveling with their parents, so I won’t see them until September.

I push my way through the crowd, through the barrier, and out onto Platform Ten before I start to look for my parents.

“Lily!” a voice calls. I whip my head around and see Rory Capers, my childhood crush and oldest friend, waving at me as he walks across the platform.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, smiling, as soon as he’s within earshot.

“Coming to get you. Where’s the Slimy One?”

I frown. “Severus and I don’t talk anymore. He’s finding his own way home.”

“He’s finding his own way back to Cokeworth?” Rory asks incredulously. “It’s two hours away! What’s he gonna do, take the bus?”

“I don’t know, but we are _not_ giving him a ride.”

“Oh, it was _that_ kind of falling out!” he says knowingly

“What the hell do you mean by that?” I ask, smiling a bit.

Rory ignores me and asks, “So, how much do you hate him on a scale of One to Potter?” I can’t help but smile at the joke. It had started when Sev and I spent the entire summer first and second year complaining about Potter and Black. Rory had had to put up with the complaints and half told stories. He doesn’t know about magic and thinks that Hogwarts is a boarding school for brainiacs near Inverness.

“Probably around torturing puppies for fun,” I reply, and Rory winces.

“I don’t even want to know what he did to make you dislike him that much. Oh, here. Let me take that.” He takes hold of my trolley and begin to push it towards the parking lot.

“Wait, how did you get _here_?” I ask, running to catch up with him.

Rory laughs. “I drove. I am sixteen, you know. I _can_ drive,” he teases. “I applied for a provincial license on my birthday and got it.”

“But you’re not allowed to drive alone without–”

“Someone over eighteen? Yeah. Mum’s in the car.” Rory grimaces. He doesn’t have the best relationship with his parents. “You know, you haven’t even said hello yet.”

I grin at him. “Hello Rory, darling. Thank you for taking my trunk and for picking me up.”

“You are most welcome, m’dear,” he says cheerfully.

The drive back to Cokeworth does wonders for my stress. I haven’t seen Rory for a year, so we spend the whole time talking about school and catching up on the things we missed. It’s all so very muggle and for once, I stop thinking about Hogwarts, homework, Potter and his friends, the Slytherins, and, most of all, You-Know-Who. By the time Rory pulls into our driveway, I’ve even forgotten about my sister.

“Oh, wonderful,” Petunia says sarcastically when I open the door. “You brought the freak back. Why couldn’t you just leave her at the station?”

“Because I happen to rather like her, Pet,” Rory replies with a grin, depositing my trunk in the front hall. Petunia sniffs and stalks up stairs. I hear a door slam as she presumably barricades herself in her room.

“Is that Rory I hear?” Mum’s voice asks from the kitchen. “Does that mean Lily’s home?”

“Yes mum,” I call. “I’m just going to put my trunk in my room.”

“Oh don’t be silly,” she says, coming into the hallway and wiping her hands on her apron. “Let the boys do that. Let me look at you.” She holds me at arms-length and smiles, saying, “You look exactly like you did at Christmas,” before pulling me into a tight hug.

“Just with a bit more colour, I hope,” I manage to say.

“Is that my daughter I hear?” Dad calls from the living room.

“Yeah, but I won’t be around for much longer if Mum chokes me to death,” I gasp. Mum laughs and releases me as Dad comes into view.

“Ah, I assume you’ll want me to carry that damn trunk up to your room, won’t you?”

“Well since mum won’t let _me_ take it…”

“You say hello to her,” Rory tells Dad. “I’ll bring it upstairs.” Dad grins and pulls me into a bear hug.

When Rory returns, Mum herds us into the kitchen, saying, “Set the table won’t you, Lily darling?” I grimace as Rory laughs.

“Boy,” Dad calls, “where has that mother of yours got to? I never saw her come in.”

“She’s already left.”

“What do you mean, already left?” I ask, pulling placemats out of a drawer. “How are you getting home?”

“I’m spending the summer hols here. Didn’t you parents tell you?”

“No,” I say, casting a glance at Mum over my shoulder. She ignores me. “They neglected to mention it.”

“Well, I am. I didn’t see you last Christmas and now I want to spend some time with my girl.”

“Since when am I your girl?” I protest, smiling.

“Since you decided it was alright to steal my trucks in primary school,” Rory shoots back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love it if you took one second and reviewed. You can write one word or one hundred, I just like hearing what you think!
> 
> And I would like to say that the attack on Chlorane Bar was a real event that occurred during the Troubles in Ireland. I used Wikipedia as a main source, and corroborated facts by looking an article from the University of Ulster and the book “Wasted Years, Wasted Lives Vol. 1, The British Army in Northern Ireland, 1975-77” by Ken M. Warton. That being said, I am Canadian, and I’m not sure if my using an actual event from that period is offensive or anything. If it is, I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention. 5 people were killed in the attack mentioned, and it was a mass shooting. I’ve always found it interesting when authors use real-life events and change them slightly to fit their story line, and so that’s why I did it.
> 
> Timmins


	4. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***VIOLENCE WARNING***  
> For people who don’t like reading graphic violence, this might get a little bit explicit in places. As in gory details. Actually gory. Just so you’re forewarned. I’ll put a summary of events in the Author’s Note at the end if you want to skip it.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. You’re the best!

**_BOOK ONE_ **

 

**_\- FOUR -_ **

 

_ In Memorandum _

_The following is a list of magical persons who are either dead, or missing:_

  * _Aithne Carey Slane, 35 from Ardee, Ireland – Half-Blood – Missing_
  * _Wirvan Doria Strange, 14 from Godric’s Hollow, England – Muggle-Born – Missing_
  * _Rhys Miles Williams, 57 from Cardiff, Wales – Muggle-Born – Deceased_



_~ Excerpt from an article in the Daily Prophet_

 

_August, 1976 – One week before school…_

**JAMES**

I wake up to a mouth that tastes like sawdust and a dull pounding at my temples. The only problem with Sirius living at the Manor is that he knows exactly where parents are likely to hide the liquor.

I roll over and groan when the light from the open windows hits my eyes.

 “Morning,” Sirius mumbles from my chesterfield by the fireplace. I grunt in response, fumbling around for my spectacles. When they’re finally on, I flinch, the sudden focus sending my stomach rolling as it threatens to eject its contents all over the floor.

“Here,” Sirius says, coming over and handing me a potion bottle, which I tentatively sniff. The smell makes the rolling worse and I gag. Sirius smiles grimly. “One part girding potion, three parts vitamix potion, and two parts invigoration draught.”

“Mixing things again, are you?” I grimace, sniffing the mixture again. The smell seems to be getting worse.

“Just drink it, Prongs. It won’t kill you.”

“You sure about that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. But I tip the phial back and drink the mixture anyway. If there’s one thing that Sirius knows, it’s how to get rid of a hangover. The pounding eases, and my stomach stops rolling as moisture creeps back into my mouth. “That’s revolting,” I say, standing and slipping into my dressing gown and slippers.

“Maybe,” he concedes. “But does it matter? If it works, it works. Who cares what it tastes like?” Sirius shrugs.

“I care,” I grumble. “I’m gonna be tasting that all day.”

“Serves you right for drinking two bottles of Firewhiskey on your own,” Sirius says with a laugh.

“Shut up,” I say, but a smirk is tugging at my mouth. I frown and wrinkle my nose. “Pads. Do you smell something burning?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Guess the house-elves messed up breakfast,” Sirius chuckles.

“I suppose,” I say, frowning. It’s not like them to make mistakes while cooking… “Come on, let’s go see if there’s anything edible.”

“Godric bloody Gryffindor,” Sirius coughs as we walk out into the hallway, “They must’ve really screwed up. Look.” He points at the ceiling where a thin layer of black smoke is collecting.

I examine it with alarm. “Something’s wrong. The only thing that could produce that much smoke is a full on house fire, but–”

“There are so many charms on the kitchens that a house fire is impossible,” Sirius finishes, his eyes widening. We exchange a look and sprint towards the kitchens, skidding to a stop just outside the door, coughing and hacking from the smoke billowing into the hall.

Sirius takes the hem of his dressing gown and rips off two strips, casting a filtering charm on them as he does. He passes one to me and ties the other over his mouth and nose. I follow suite and together, we gingerly creep into the kitchen.

“Kapri!” I call, as we enter the room, peering through the smoke. “Dex! Mina!” I yell, naming two more of our house-elves.

“We need to clear this smoke,” Sirius says. “I can’t see a thing.” I nod, swallowing thickly and pull out my wand, waving it and muttering, “ _Ventus_ ,” even though part of me doesn’t want to. There’s no way that this smoke is covering anything nice, especially not with that coppery tang. The resulting blast of air clears the room of smoke and we’re finally able to see the state of the kitchen.

At first, all I see is that it’s red. The floor is red, the walls are splattered with red, the furniture is red. Blood red. Crimson.

A second glance and I notice that there are odd shapes scattered around the room and that the fireplace is stacked with blackened logs.

A third look, which I just barely manage, proves my worst fears to be true.

House-elves.

The kitchen is full of dead house-elves.

Dead house-elves that are carved into pieces.

We’re a wealthy, well-respected family. We keep a large amount of property, and an accordingly large number of house-elves, about twenty or so. All of them are now strewn across the kitchen, ripped to shreds or stuffed into the fireplace and burnt. As much as I hope they were already dead when the blaze was set, I have a horrible feeling that they weren’t. A bubble of anger starts to boil in my stomach, the cool heat of my rage suffusing my neck and shoulders and making my head fuzzy with fury.

“It looks like they used _Defodio_ ,” Sirius says darkly, examining the mess.

“And _Diffindo_ ,” I mutter tightly, nudging a severed ear near my foot.

“Why didn’t the spells warn anyone?” Sirius asks, stepping over the mangled bodies of Kapri and Hova.

“I honestly don’t know,” I say quietly. My thoughts are clearing, the boiling anger turning into a calm stillness that leaves me with one simple thought: “But I’m going to find the rotten sodding bastard who did this and I’m going to kill him.”

“Not without me, you won’t,” Sirius says, supressed rage making his voice shake slightly. “James, you don’t think that they’re still–” Sirius is interrupted as a blood-curdling scream echoes through the Manor.

We’re out of the kitchen and dashing through the hallways before the echo has a chance to fade.

“The master bedroom?” Sirius asks as we run up the main staircase.

“I think so,” I say, supressing the cough tickling at the back of my throat. The smoke is still thick throughout the Manor and getting progressively worse as we near the top of the stairs. Sirius and I pull the charmed cloths back up over our faces.

“Come on,” Sirius says, starting in the direction of my parents’ bedroom. A boom echoes from the hallway he’s about to enter and he only just manages to get clear as a section of wall collapses. Smoke billows from the hole, stinging my eyes.

“ _Ventus_ ,” I say, pointing my wand into the smoke. It blows out of the way in time for us to see the tail of giant fiery snake slither around the corner at the far end of the hallway.

Sirius swears violently, staring at where the snake disappeared.

“Pads,” I say, swatting at his arm, my eyes widening behind my soot-streaked spectacles as a fiery dog stalks through the wall. “Padfoot, run!” We bolt away from the Fiendfyre, running as fast as we can as the thing gives chase.

“This way!” I call, sliding into an almost invisible division in the wall, hidden by the shadows of an alcove and a tapestry.

“You have secret passages?” Sirius asks, following me in. The tapestry crackles as it catches fire, but the dog runs past, not noticing the gap. “How did I not know this was here?” he says as we proceed down the passage.

“It’s called a secret passage for a reason, Pads. And you’re not the most observant of blokes,” I joke, in spite of the tension. Or maybe because of it. “Quiet now,” I whisper as we near the end of the passage. Voices drift towards us.

“…just shut your fat gob, Potter,” a voice growls.

“You _Crucio_ ed my wife, Ogden,” Dad says tightly. “I’m not about to take that quietly. Surely you know me better than that by now.”

“Pox,” I whisper.

“What?” Sirius asks.

“Remember that murdering crackpot of a wizard down in Surrey that gave my mum so much trouble last summer?”

“Alence Ogden,” Sirius says, nodding. His eyes widen as he realize what he’s just said. “Bloody hell. I thought he went to Azkaban.”

“So did I,” I mutter darkly. The conversation continues in the other room.

“Shut it, Potter.” That’s a new voice. Another man.

“Why are you here, anyway?” Dad asks, sounding calm and collected. I know he’s only asking the questions to gage the situation, to figure out why they’re here and what they want.

“We’re under orders,” a shrill voice says. “From the Dark Lord. You’re to come with us.”

“Oh, are we now?” I can hear the underlying threat in my father’s voice, but the three Death Eaters either ignore it or don’t notice. What few people realize is that, although my father is primarily a manufacturer of hair products, he’s as good a dueller as my mother, if not better. I smirk, knowing these three nobs are in for a lot of pain.

“Yes, you are,” Ogden growls.

“You have a choice, Potter,” the shrill witch giggles. “You can come with us, or die.” Sirius and I creep closer to the false wall that is passage’s exit.

“ _Videam,_ ” Sirius whispers, pointing at the wall. It slowly begins to change from grey stone to a pearly white, finally becoming clear. The spell only works one way, so we can see the room beyond, but they can’t see us.

Dad is kneeling with his back to us, his hands clenched angrily by his sides. I can see Dad’s wand lying on the ground next to him, but Dad can’t possibly reach it before one of the three Death Eaters curses him.

Lying on the floor in front of Dad is Mum. She’d fallen with her head away from the Death Eaters and is pretending to be unconscious, but her eyes are open and alert. Her wand is held loosely in her hand, waiting for the opportune moment to attack. These three have to be complete morons to leave that thing in her hand.

The three Death Eaters have spread out into the room and all of them have their wands out and pointing at my parents. Two men and one woman. One of them has very stupidly taken his mask off and thrown it carelessly onto the bed, where he’s now sitting. I recognize him as Lem Oteri, a murderer who is currently on the run from the Ministry.

My attention snaps back to the scene in front of us as Dad speaks, replying to the witch’s comment: “Well now, Shorrock, that’s not much of a choice, is it?” he asks sarcastically. “So how about I give _you_ a choice?”

“Get ready,” I whisper to Sirius, drawing my wand and positioning myself in front of one of the attack holes that Mum installed when You-Know-Who first stared gathering followers. I see a feral grin creep across Sirius’s face as he swishes his wand experimentally before claiming a hole of his own.

“I highly recommend that you leave,” Dad says, and I recognized the beginning of the queue phrase. It’s one of the first that Dad and Mum established when they shored up the house’s defensive features, “or die.”

“ _Avada-”_

_Stupefy_! I think as Mum rolls agilely to the side and calmly says, “ _Everte Statum_.” Shorrock and Ogden are thrown back against the walls. My stunning charm connects with Shorrock and she falls unconscious from the combined force of the two spells. Sirius’s Confundus charm hit Oteri who falls back dizzily against the wall, holding his head in his hands. Dad flicks his wand at Ogden, firing a quick _Immobulus_ as Sirius opens the false wall and we step into the room.

 

**SIRIUS**

“ _Incarcerous_ ,” James says, targeting Oteri, who falls over on the bed as the magical ropes surround him and tighten sharply before attaching themselves to the bed posts, ensuring that their captive doesn’t move.

“Good morning, Jamesie-Boy,” Monty says, as though it’s common occurrence to be attacked. Actually, in Grimmauld Place, it was.

“Have you seen what they did to the house-elves?” James asks tightly, his anger returning as the adrenaline begins to fade. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. It wasn’t too long ago he was reeling from a wicked hangover, but my potion seems to have worked.

“What happened?” Mother Mia asks, concerned.

“Well, long story short, they’re all lying in the kitchen in pieces,” I say with a grimace. Mother Mia’s eyes darken with anger. “Hopefully we’ll be able to find all the bits.”

“And the manor’s on fire,” James adds.

“But that’s not possible,” Monty says, glancing sharply at his son. “The only thing that could burn the manor is…”

“Fiendfyre,” I say with a nod just as a loud crash sounds outside the door.

“We must leave,” Mother Mia says, levitating Ogden. Monty quickly levitates Oteri and I grab Shorrock. It still catches me off guard sometimes, the way James’s parents treat me. They naturally assume that I’ll just follow along and not do anything stupid. I can’t think of any other family that wouldn’t mistrust me just because I’m a bloody Black.

James leads the way back into the passage and, after extinguishing the tapestry at the far end, out into the Manor beyond. I follow behind him with Monty and Mother Mia pulling up the rear, prisoners in tow. The house crackles and pops around us, smouldering and burning. We make our way tentatively through the house, moving as quickly as we dare over the unstable upper floor. We manage to reach the main staircase without incident, but when James puts his foot on the top stair, it gives way and my stomach lurches sickeningly as he almost falls through.

“Careful,” Monty calls as James holds desperately onto the railing, pulling his leg back out of the jagged hole. He winces as the smouldering splinters cut and burn his calf. “Test the weight first, James.”

“Isn’t there a spell we could use or something?” I ask.

“It would be too complicated to try to get the Death Eaters down there without injuring or killing them, and the use of magic on the stairs might attract the Fiendfyre,” Mother Mia replies. “It’ll be swamping the master bedroom by now, what with all the magical energy used there.”

“We’ll just go carefully,” James says grimly, cautiously stepping over the first stair and putting his weight on the second, holding onto the banister for balance. “Come on,” he says, after progressing down a few more steps. Slowly but surely we pick our way down the staircase, James testing the beams for weakness. All of our attention is riveted on the staircase, and none of us notice that the Impediment Jinx begins to wear off of Ogden until it’s too late.

Ogden waits until the spell has completely worn off before, in one fluid movement, he pivots in the air, draws his wand, and points it at James, yelling, “ _Defodio_!”

“ _Protego_!” James says, angling his wand and the Gouging spell rebounds off the shield and connects with the stairs underneath Mother Mia’s feet. Before anyone can react, she falls through with a scream, taking Ogden with her.

“No!” James yells, lunging towards the hole to try to grab his mother, but Monty catches him and sets him back on his feet, preventing him from falling through after her. I’m tempted to jump down instead, but the tone in Monty’s voice stops me.

“I’ve just lost your mother,” Monty says hoarsely, “Don’t make me lose you too.” He sounds nearly broken.

“We have to find her,” I say thickly.

“ _Duro_!” James says wildly, pointing his wand at the stairs, which quickly turn to stone. James runs down the solid staircase, followed closely by Monty and I.  We’ve still got Oteri and Shorrock.

James trips over a protruding piece of wood at the base of the staircase and goes sprawling, cracking his spectacles and sending his wand skittering across the floor ahead of him. “Mum!” James yells, coughing from the smoke and dust as he grabs his wand and gets to his feet. “Mum!”

I hesitate for a millisecond before deciding that the risk is worth it. I pull down my makeshift mask and take as deep a breath as I can, allowing my face to morph and trying to focus the transformation on my eyes, nose, and ears so I can take advantage of my Animagus form’s heightened senses.

“Mother Mia!” I yell, my voice sounding thick and forced, as though I’m talking around a mouthful of cotton balls. James looks over his shoulder and blanches a little. I gather that I’m none too attractive at the moment, but that hardly matters. I cast about in the air, snuffling quietly.

“Anything?” James whispers hoarsely.

I shake my head and let the muzzle melt back into a human nose and mouth. “All I can smell is smoke,” I say regretfully.

“ _Ventus_ ,” Monty calls, coming up behind us and blowing the smoke out of the way, revealing the shattered beams from the stair that Mother Mia had been standing on. But that’s all.

There are no broken bodies or bloody remains, only gently smouldering and shattered wood. As we watch, flames began to lick at the beams, turning them black. “We need to get out,” Monty says as we watch them burn.

“No,” James says angrily, rounding on his father. “We _have_ to find Mum. We can’t just leave her in here.” I reach out and squeeze his shoulder.

“Do you honestly think that I would just abandon her?” Monty demands angrily. “Your mother _can_ take care of herself. She has probably already re-apprehended Ogden and is on her way out of the Manor now. Either way, we need to get these two,” he gestures to Shorrock and Oteri, “out of here. The Ministry will want to question them.”

“You care more about the Ministry than Mum!” James shouts, and I wince. I know it’s the panic talking, and hopefully Monty does too.

“Enough,” James’s father roars. “I am not abandoning your mother. We will take these two out of the Manor and if Mia is not there, then you two will stay outside while I come back in to try to find her. I will not lose my wife and sons in the same day,” he adds in a gentler tone, meeting our eyes in turn. It takes me a second to register what he said.

_Sons_.

_Plural_.

“Come on James. Monty’s right,” I say, although it pains me to even suggest abandoning her. “Mother Mia’s probably on her way out right now. And we can’t do anything for her if we all die in here.”

“And aside from that, the Fiendfyre’s almost here. We _have_ to get out!” Monty says. “You want to be an auror? It’s time to start acting like one.”

“Fine,” James snaps. “Fine. Let’s go.” He turns and leads the way down the hallway to the kitchen, the closest exit. Monty hisses in through his teeth angrily at the sight of the house-elves’ remains.

“Come on,” James says quietly, walking carefully through the destroyed room as though it’s a graveyard. I suppose in a way it is. Monty and I pick our way through the ruined corpses and out onto the Manor grounds, coughing and hacking as the smoke billows out of the open door, surrounding us and clogging our lungs.

“Mum!” James yells as soon as he has his breath back. He takes off his spectacles and scrubs at them with his soot-covered dressing gown, smearing the soot around rather than actually cleaning them. He sighs in disgust and points his wand at his cracked lenses. “ _Scourgify. Oculus Reparo._ ” He sets his newly cleaned and repaired spectacles on the sooty bridge of his nose and looks around the kitchen garden. He cups his hands around his mouth, yelling, “MUM!” as loudly as he can.

“Mia!” I shout, adding my voice to James’s.

“Go look for her,” Monty says, setting Oteri down a ways away from the Manor and sitting down next to him. I put Shorrock down on Monty’s other side and, after taking in Monty’s exhausted face, transfigure the stone garden gnome sitting behind him into a squashy armchair.  James helps me lift Monty to his feet and into the chair before we set off together around the right side of the Manor.

“She didn’t make it out,” James says after fifteen minutes of fruitless searching.

“No,” I agree sadly, just as a scream rips through the grounds for the second time that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins
> 
> Chapter Summary:  
> End of August, a week before school starts: Sirius has run away from home, and has been spending the summer in the Potters’ mansion.  
> Sirius and James wake up to Potter Manor in flames. After they find the kitchen turned into a mass grave of 20 dead house-elves, they proceed to search the Manor for James’s parents, Fleamont (a salesman) and Euphemia (an auror) (Monty and Mother Mia to Sirius). They find them trapped by three Death Eaters (Alence Ogden, Agathe Shorrock, and Lem Oteri) The Potters and Sirius quickly overpower the intruders and are taking them out of the Manor, when Ogden breaks free, sending himself and Euphemia through the collapsed staircase. When James and Sirius reach the bottom of the hole, both are gone. Monty makes the boys come outside with him and the remaining (unconscious) Death Eaters outside, before sending them to scout the Manor’s perimeter for Mia. They’ve just concluded that she didn’t make it out, when they hear a scream echo from the house.


	5. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***VIOLENCE WARNING***  
> For people who don’t like reading graphic violence, this might get a little bit explicit in places. As in gory details. Actually gory. Just so you’re forewarned. I’ll put a summary of events in the Author’s Note at the end if you want to skip it.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. You’re the best!

** Book One **

**_\- FIVE -_ **

 

_... Bartemius Crouch Sr., head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as well as Harold Minchum, the Minister of Magic himself, both urge all witches and wizards to not panic, as You-Know-Who is not an immediate threat to the common magical person…_

_~ Excerpt from an article in the Daily Prophet_

 

**PIPPIN**

I roll over in bed, coughing and gaging as the smoke chokes me into wakefulness. I sit up and grope under my pillow for my wand.

“ _Ventus_ ,” I croak, blowing the smoke away from my bed so I can snatch a gulp of fresh air.  I sit up gingerly, rubbing my raw throat, and set my feet on the warm stone floor.

Warm?

The floor is never _warm_. I cough again and repeat the spell, waving my wand at the smoke, which is quickly thickening once more. As the room clears, I get up and walk over to the door.

“ _Videam,_ ” I say, laying my wand against its solid wood surface. I gasp as the wood becomes transparent, giving me a clear view of the tongues of flame lapping at the stone corridor, progressing hungrily towards my room. I back away from the door as a shadowy figure appears, parting the flames and walking quickly towards me. They try the door handle and, finding it locked, points their wand at it, saying, _“Expulso_.” I duck and cover my head as the door explodes, sending splinters flying in every direction.

“Well, well, well. Aren’t you a _pretty_ little thing?” a slimy voice sneers from the doorway. I look up and gulp as I recognize him. Alence Ogden, the one who murdered my family. The one who had been apprehended by the Ministry last summer and had been in Azkaban ever since. Or so I’d thought. Fury starts to rise in me as Ogden steps into my room, his eyes roving over my body.

I raise my wand and glare at him. “What are you doing here?”

“The Dark Lord sent me to kill the Potters,” he leers, advancing and not seeming the least bit perturbed by my wand. “They’re dead,” he adds conversationally. “Them and that Black traitor. It was fun.”

I feel bile rising in my throat as my eyes start burning. I feel like crying at the thought of Master and Mistress Potter lying on the cold stone floor, or being swallowed up by the fire raging through the Manor. Even the thought of Master James lying dead causes a sharp pain in my chest and makes my stomach flip. He and Sirius can be right foul gits when they want to be, but James is sweet when he thinks no one’s looking and he’s kind to the house-elves, something that cannot be said about many purebloods. Sirius isn’t out-right cruel to them, but he doesn’t show much consideration either. But he is kind when he wants to be and it makes me angry to think of him as a corpse, tossed on the floor like a broken rag doll.

The Potters saved me. They took me in after my family was killed and gave me a job.

I don’t consciously decide to, but my wand rises as I say, “ _Crucio_ ,” my voice catching on the word. The spell doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t. I’ve only just enough power to not be labeled a squib.

“You’ll need to better than that, dearie.” Ogden cackles. “ _Crucio_!”

I scream as pain rips through my body. My vision tunnels and goes black around the edges. My muscles contract at the force of the spell, and I collapse onto the floor, unable to break my fall. The pain stops as suddenly as it started. I’m aware that I’m sobbing, my muscles clenching and twitching in the aftermath. I lost my wand when I fell. It’s all I can do to lie still, whimpering as the pain finally ebbs from my body, leaving my muscles tight and aching. I feel Ogden kneel down beside me.

He reaches out, brushing a hand along my cheek. “Such a pretty girl,” he whispers. I slap his hand away, struggling to sit up, but Ogden backhands me across the jaw and I fall back, dazed. He takes the opportunity to climb onto me, pushing my nightgown above my hips. He leans down and attacks my mouth with a bruising kiss, forcing it open and shoving in his tongue. I gag and struggle, pushing against the man with everything I have left, battering him as best I can with my arms and legs. When he doesn’t budge, I bite down on his tongue.

Hard.

“Bloody, minging bitch!” Ogden curses, pulling back and spitting blood into my face. I turn my head to avoid the globule, spitting the blood in my own mouth onto the floor as I do. I gasp in pain as Ogden backhands me again, this time not stopping after one hit. I thrash, trying to avoid the blows, but Ogden casts an Immobulus spell, forcing my limbs to stay in place.

He grins down at me, a gruesome sight that is only enhanced by the blood still dribbling down his chin, staining his mouth red. “I’m going to make you pay for that, you _poxy_ whore!” I feel a chill as he reaches to unbuckle his trousers. This can’t be happening.

“Help!” I yell as loudly as I can, more tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I’m terrified and shaking, hardly able to think. “Please! Someone! Help me!”

“No one can help you, you little slut. They’re all dead,” Ogden says, an evil grin splitting his face. Suddenly he freezes, a wand pressed to the back of his head. I raise my eyes to see Mistress Potter, battered and bloody, but blissfully _alive_ , glaring at Ogden with barely contained fury.

“Get off my maid,” Euphemia says with dangerously cold clarity.

 

**SIRIUS**

“Help!” The voice echoes out of the house. “Please! Someone! Help me!”

“Pippin,” I breath, panic setting in again. James and I don’t hesitate for a moment, making a beeline for the Manor, slipping our makeshift masks back on as we run.

“I’ll check the servant’s wing. You check the residential,” James says. I nod and turn left while he goes right.

 

**EUPHEMIA**

I dig my wand point into Ogden’s neck, and hiss, “Get up. I have very little tolerance for people who threaten someone weaker than them, and even less patience for those who attack my family. I suggest you do as I say because I have absolutely no qualms about slitting your throat right now.” I can hear my voice shake as I attempt to keep my impulses in control. Every fiber in my body is screaming at me to dismember this wretch, but we need him alive.

Ogden smoothly gets to his feet and turns to face me. He wrinkles his nose in distaste. “You lived,” he says. “How unfortunate.”

I sneer back at him. “Isn’t it just?”

Ogden lifts an eyebrow. “You can still join,” he says in a bored tone. My response is a non-verbal attack. Unfortunately, Ogden predicted it.

He blocks my spell without any difficulty, countering quickly with, “ _Lacarnum Inflamarae_ ,” just as I say, “ _Aguamenti_.” The spells collide with a great hiss of steam and I take advantage of it, sending another non-verbal attack.

I see Pippin flinch when droplets of boiling water land on her. As Ogden and I begin trading spells more rapidly, I try to draw him away from the girl. In my hurry to turn a Knockback Jinx away, I accidentally send it at Pippin. I’m more careful when I deflect a _Defodio_ , but the Gouging Curse bounces off a mirror and takes a chunk out of the girl’s leg anyhow.

My mouth tightens, but I can’t allow my attention to waver. There’s nothing that I can do for Pippin until Ogden is dead. As we continue trading blows, I feel the sweat on my forehead start to thicken and drip dangerously into my eyes. I take a second between castings to swipe at it with my hand and Ogden’s eyes light up.

I know I’ve made a mistake the second that he gives his wand an extra twitch, sending a Severing Charm at me. I move away and it catches my side instead of my stomach. I gasp as I feel my skin split, and hurry to throw up a few layers of defensive charms around me.

As I do, I watch Ogden’s eyes suddenly widen at something behind me. I risk a glance to see a Fiendfyre Hippogriff barrelling down the hallway. I whirl to face it, trusting my charms to hold and prepare to force it back, but someone else beats me to it.

A brilliant silver stag leaps through the creature, dissipating it and sending it melting into the smaller fires in the room. The stag circles the room and Ogden backs away from it quickly. I take advantage of his momentary distraction. With a quick, “ _Impedimenta, Immobulus,_ ” he falls down and is caught once more.

I quickly move to Pippin’s side, removing the spells holding her in place before tugging her nightdress back down over her legs. I start to shake as I take in the extent of her injuries. Half her leg is missing and there’s a piece of wood embedded in her sternum. Her breaths are burbling in her throat, blood bubbles forming on her lips.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t help.”

I cry as I reach for her hand. Someone else takes the other and I look up to see my son kneeling on her other side. When did he get here?

I smooth back her hair and smile down at her. “No, Pippin. You are in no way at fault.”

“You’ve been wonderful, ma’am,” she whispers. “It was wonderful. Thank you. For everything.”

It doesn’t take long for her to succumb to her injuries. Jamie and I sit there until she does. I reach out a hand to close her eyes and look over at him.

He’s covered in soot and grime, his pyjamas entirely ruined. His hair is slightly charred, his face is streaked sweat and smoke, and his arms are badly burnt.

“You’re crying,” I murmur. Jamie raises a hand to his face and then looks at his wet fingers in surprise. I feel a compulsion to take his hand and do so. “I love you. You know I love you.”

He gives me the smallest of smiles. “I love you too, Mum. But we need to get out of here. The house will collapse in any minute and we don’t want to be inside when it does.”

I nod and try to stand, but I’ve forgotten about my side. The injury stabs painfully and I drop back to the ground, clapping a hand to the wound. I can feel blood seeping through my fingers. Jamie’s at my side in an instant, pulling me to my feet and keeping his arms securely around me. I’m sweating and swaying and I know it’s hard on him. He’s only a few inches tall than me after all, and in bad shape himself.

“Come on, Mum. We need to go,” he says, somewhat desperately.

“I can’t, Jamie. You won’t make it out if you carry me,” I chastise weakly.

“Like hell I’m leaving you here,” he growls, but everything’s already going black.

 

**JAMES**

I feel the energy leaving her and she sags against me. My Patronus has disappeared and the Fiendfyre’s gathering itself again. I desperately reach for my wand, but I can’t find it. I had it a moment ago. I scan the floor but it’s not there. I feel my pockets again and this time, find a small mirror.

Hopefully he gets here in time.

 

**SIRIUS**

I move through the manor as I dare, checking every room and calling out for Pippin. I’m tempted to stop in our rooms to try to grab some of our things, but know that I can’t risk the time it will take. I do however, take a few seconds to release our owls, Fallow and Gorgon. No sense in letting them burn alive.

I’ve just finished checking the rooms and am about to head back outside when I hear James’s voice emanating from my pocket.

 

**OTERI**

I wake up on my side with something wet soaking through my robes. I have enough presence of mind not to groan or make any movements, but I risk opening my eyes.

The wetness must be dew, because I’m lying on the grass outside of the Potter’s massive house. There’s screaming and shouting drifting towards us over the sounds of popping and crackling and creaking as everything gets devoured by Ogden’s Fiendfyre.

Stupid man. There’ll be nothing left of the place.

The old Potter is standing a little ways away with his back to me, just watching as his house burns. I look around, but there’s no one else aside from Agathe.

Carefully, I pull at the ropes tying my hands, but they’re completely secure. My wand’s in a pocket thanks to an automatic retrieval charm, but there’s no way I can get at it. I tip my head to get a better look at Agathe. She’s unbound, but still out.

My arms starting to itch and I know we’re running out of time. I glance back at the Potter, but he’s still not paying attention.

Idiot.

I take the risk and hiss, “Agathe. Oi, Shorrock, wake up.” It takes more strength than I can probably spare, but send a wandless, “ _Rennervate,_ ” at her.

She twitches and opens her eyes. “Where are we?” she mumbles.

I roll my eyes, and grunt, “Potters. Remember?”

Agathe looks at me, notices the ropes, and hisses, “Bloody, sodding _bastards_ ,” with so much venom, I wouldn’t be surprised if Old Potter dropped dead. Unfortunately, he doesn’t.

“Gimme a hand, would you?” I say, nodding to the ropes with my chin. Agathe draws her wand and makes quick work of the bonds. She pulls me to my feet, then glances towards Potter, who has yet to notice that either of us are even awake.

“Should you take care of him, or shall I?” Agathe demands, eyeing the elderly man distastefully.

“Together, on three,” I whisper.

 

**JAMES**

Mum’s knees give and I have to drop the mirror to hold her.

“Sirius!” I call again, not daring to try to scoop it up.

A faint, “Coming,” emanates from it, and a moment later Sirius is sprinting down the hallway towards me.

“Pox,” he swears, pulling up short when he sees us. “What the bloody hell happened?”

“She’s hurt and unconscious and I can’t carry her on my own and the Fiendfyre’s coming and – Merlin, Sirius what if we don’t make it out?” I’m babbling, barely able to catch my breath from the panic and smoke.

“Breath, Prongs. If you pass out, we all die. Freaking out won’t help anything either,” Sirius says, looping Mum’s free arm around his shoulders. We manage to get to the end of the hallway, but we’re moving too slowly and the ‘fyre’s advancing. Mum’s too heavy and there ‘s too much distance between us, and the door outside.

“Transform,” Sirius says when we’re forced to pause for breath.

“What?” Has he gone mad?

“Transform. You can carry her out, and I’ll make sure she doesn’t fall. It’ll be faster.”

I barely debate. I should, but I don’t. I take a breath and release it slowly, imagining a heaviness setting into my bones. It always works like that. Imagining. I imagine antlers and they grow, my nose itching horribly as it lengthens, the skin around my eyes burning as my spectacles melt into my fur, becoming dark circles around my eyes. My arms drop to the ground as my legs and back stretch and small tail sprouts from my spine. My hands and feet harden into hooves, clopping as they connect with the ground. Everything prickles as the fur grows and then it all stops.

As soon as my animagus form solidifies, I bend my forelegs to the ground. Sirius heaves Mum and deposits her onto my back, taking off his dressing gown casting a quick sticking charm on her clothes to make her stay put. It’s going to burn when it comes off, but at the moment, I couldn’t care less. 

I can feel her blood seeping into my fur and all I can do is pray to Godric, Merlin, and every muggle god there is that we make it out in time.

 

**FLEAMONT**

I’ve never had much patience for stupidity, and these Death Eaters are taxing my last nerve.

I’m sure Oteri thinks he’s being quiet when he starts whispering to Shorrock, but I raised James who has a horrible knack for sneaking around. Compared to him, they’re as quite as a rampaging giant.

“Together, on three,” Oteri says. “One, two-”

“ _Flipendo_!” I whirl, attacking the Death Eaters before they have a chance to attack me. Shorrock just manages to block the jinx, but Oteri isn’t nearly fast enough and flies head over heels into the tree behind him. While he’s rubbing his head and recovering his two wits, Shorrock begins some rapid curse fire, circling me in an attempt to keep me occupied. I let her.

When Oteri finally manages to get to his feet, he points his wand at me and yells, “ _Avada_ _Kedavra_!” I duck easily, allowing to the curse to explode against the kitchen door, which falls to the ground in a heap of rubble.

Mid dodge, I shoot an Entomorphis Hex at Oteri. It strikes home and the Death Eater transforms into an insect, which, unfortunately, is promptly squashed as Shorrock’s next spell brings a branch down on it. This, predictably, sends Shorrock into a screaming rage. I duck another Killing Curse, this one from her. It rebounds off one of the few intact windows and catches her in the head.

 “Idiots.” I mutter, and then glance over at the house as a noise draws my attention to the kitchen door. Sirius comes out first and relief swamps me. It quickly turns to confusion and worry as he’s followed, not by my son, but by a beautiful but exhausted looking stag. Mia’s draped across it’s back, soaked in blood.

“Euphemia,” I gasp, running over to Sirius and the stag. “Where’s James?”

“Help me get her down,” Sirius says, ignoring my question, as the stag sways tiredly on its feet. I help Sirius to lift Euphemia gently onto the grass, and nearly laugh with relief when I see her chest rise and fall raggedly.

The stag wanders a few steps away, swaying but seeming almost pleased.

“Whoa, careful,” Sirius says, reaching for the animal’s muzzle. The stag’s eyes roll back in its head as it keels over, and Sirius starts to swear. I frown at him and am about to demand to know where James is, when I hear him mutter, “ _Homorphium_.”

Shock rushes through me, both at Sirius attempting to use such an advanced and complex piece of magic, and also at the fact that it works.

As I watch, the stag’s antlers shrink, vanishing into a familiar mop of messy black hair and its muzzle folds in, turning into a human face. A pair of broken, sooty, rectangular spectacles form from the markings around the animal’s eyes. The fur melts into burnt, blood soaked, and sooty pyjamas, the hooves softening into hands and slippers.

Sirius is kneeling by James’s head, opening his eyes and flashing wandlight across them. He’s pale and quivering from fatigue, but he gets to his feet anyway, walking back over to Mia and I.

I still haven’t gathered my thoughts enough to form words as Sirius rips open the side of her bloody nightdress and peers at the cut before he waves his wand over it and starts to mutter a long string of spells.

“Sirius,” I say quietly, glancing over at James.

“He’s fine,” he mutters, pausing for breath. He examines the incision again and starts a new round of spells. When he finishes, he tries to stand, but immediately goes white. “I over did it,” Sirius groans. His eyes roll back into his head and he collapses so quickly that I’m barely able to catch him before he bashes his head on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love it if you took one second and reviewed. You can write one word or one hundred, I just like hearing what you think!  
> Timmins
> 
> Chapter Summary:  
> Ogden attacks the Potter’s maid (the only non-house-elf servant that they have) and is killed after a duel with Euphemia. Pippin, the maid, also dies from her injuries. James and Sirius try to carry Euphemia out of the house, but she falls unconscious and neither has the strength to drag her out and battle the Fiendfyre, so James goes into his Animagus form while Sirius keeps the ‘fyre away from them. They make it out safely to find that the remaining Death Eaters have died in a duel with Fleamont. James and Sirius both collapse from exhaustion.


	6. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. You’re the best!

** Book One **

**_\- SIX -_ **

 

_—fire and black… red and smoke… the particles swirling and whirling the crackling air—_

 

**LILY**

I hate summer.

I have to share a bathroom with Petunia, I can’t use magic, my parents are nosy and controlling, and now, I don’t even have Sev to help pass the time. And, as much as I love Rory, there’s only so much of one person I can take.

We can’t even go to most of our usual hangout spots because Sev might be there. Rory keeps insisting that I make up with him. I have no way to properly explain exactly what it is that Sev did so that he’ll understand the gravity of it. Saying that Sev swore at me, which he essentially did, doesn’t really cover what it meant.

I’ve been awake for an hour or so before I finally force myself out of bed at 11:00, and I only do that because an owl is tapping insistently on my window. When I see what it is carrying, my heart lifts. Clutched in its claws is a letter sealed with wax. The only person I know who seals her letters with wax is McGonagall.

Sure enough, when I crack it open and tip the heavy envelope out onto my bed, three pieces of parchment slip out along with a badge emblazoned with a shiny _P_. I hold it gently in my palm. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed this little pin. It had disappeared at the end of last year, undoubtedly magically returning to McGonagall’s desk for safekeeping over the break. Just for the fun of it, I pin the badge onto my sweater, the same way I did last summer when I first got it.

I carefully unfold the letters:

 

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards._

_Dear Ms. Evans,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you that your grades have qualified you for your sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_You have also been selected this year as Gryffindor’s sixth-year female Prefect. Enclosed, you will find your badge and a list of school rule amendments, your duties, and your house password._

_Term begins on September 1. Please be on time. Be advised that the Hogwarts Express will leave platform 9 ¾ from Kings Cross station at 11:00 on September 1. Your ticket is enclosed._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress_

 

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_UNIFORM_

_Sixth-year students will require:_

  1. _Three sets of plain work robes (black)_
  2. _One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_
  3. _One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_
  4. _One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)_



_Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags_

_COURSE BOOKS_

_According to your courses, you are required to have the following:_

  * _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6 by Miranda Goshawk_
  * _Quintessence: A Quest by Cyneric Boilbone_
  * _Confronting the Faceless by Nikomedes Ambrosius_
  * _Flesh-Eating Trees of the World by Owain Timaios_
  * _Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Boarge_
  * _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_
  * _Futhark Magic: A Study of Ancient Runes by Padmavati Atalanta_
  * _The Advanced Arithmancer's Handbook by Diocles Papak_
  * _Alchemy, Ancient Art and Science by Argo Pyrites_
  * _The Language of the Stars by Alther Mellla_



_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

  * _According to your courses, you are required to have the following:_
  * _1 wand_
  * _1 cauldron (stone, standard size 1)_
  * _1 cauldron (copper, standard size 4)_
  * _1 set of crystal phials_
  * _1 set of scales (brass or silver)_
  * _1 Advanced Potions Ingredients Kit (complete)_
  * _1 telescope set_
  * _1 astrolabe_
  * _Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a frog OR a rat._
  * _Students who wish to bring a broom are responsible for its storage and upkeep._



 

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_DUTIES_

_As a house prefect, you will be expected to:_

  * _Be a role model for your fellow students._
  * _Maintain high grades._
  * _Provide tutoring service in extreme cases._
  * _Patrol the Hogwarts Express during the rides to and from the school._
  * _Assist the professors in patrolling the hallways after curfew._
  * _Assist the professors in maintaining order in the school._



_As a house prefect, you will be allowed to:_

  * _Give punishment in the form of point deductions (but not from a fellow prefect)._
  * _You will have access to the prefect study and bathroom._



_SCHOOL RULE AMENDMENTS_

  1. _The Quidditch pitch may only be booked by house team captains._
  2. _Curfew has been extended until eleven o’clock pm on weeknights._
  3. _Only fifth years and above are permitted in Green House Two unless accompanied by a teacher._



_REMINDER: Magic use is banned in the hallways and in the library._

_PASSWORDS_

_Gryffindor: Arget Aurum_

_Prefect Bathroom: Bain Moussant_

_Prefect Study: Lascivitis_

 

I get ready as quickly as I can, having the fastest shower in history and don’t even bother to dry my hair afterwards.

“Mum!” I call, pattering down the stairs. “I just got my book list from school and I’m going up to London to buy supplies. I’ll try to be back for dinner.”

I’m out the door and shoving my wand into my purse before Mum even has a chance to yell, “Now, wait a minute!” The door closes on her last syllable and I sprint down the road towards the park, grateful for an excuse to get away for the day. I slow down as I pass Sev’s, but I don’t stop. The windows are dark and the only sign that someone there is still alive is the newly smashed alcohol bottle lying in shards on the driveway.

When I reach the park I find a stretch of road that’s somewhat hidden by trees and hold out my wand.

 

One and half jolting hours later, the Knight Bus slams to a halt in front of the Leaky Cauldron. I get somewhat unsteadily to my feet and lurch my way down onto the pavement, managing to mutter a queasy, “Thanks,” to the driver, Ernie Prang.

The Knight Bus leaves with a bang, but I have to take a minute to steady my stomach before I’m able to make my way through the pub and into Diagon Alley. I can’t help but smile as I’m assailed by colours and magic, the happy feeling in my chest growing as I see a broom sweeping the cobblestones by itself and some sparkling purple fog emanating from a store front.

My first stop, of course, is Gringotts so I can withdraw some of the galleons that my parents transferred into the bank for me a few years back. With my newly filled money pouch, I make my way down to Flourish and Blots. 

The lady at the desk smiles when she sees me. “Another Hogwarts student I presume?” Her eyes flicker down to my chest and her smile broadens. “And a Gryffindor Prefect. Congratulations. What can I do for you today?”

I blush, realizing that I’ve forgotten to take the badge off my sweater. I quickly remove it and place it in my purse before handing over my booklist to the shop assistant. She glances at it quickly and goes off into the store to collect my textbooks.

Behind me, the door chimes. “Evans?”

I glance over my shoulder to see Lupin and a man who looks just like him. “Hello,” I say happily. “How’s your summer been?”

“Fine,” Lupin says carefully, as though he’s expecting a trick question. “And yours?”

“Excellent. But I _am_ looking forwards to sixth year. It’ll be nice to do magic again. Did you get your list today too?”

“Yeah. Dad and I are here to pick up my books and Prongs and Padfoot’s as well.” He’s still talking carefully, as though he’s waiting for someone to jump out and say boo. Odd.

I grimace slightly and tuck my hair behind my ear. “Figures they’d get someone else to do their shopping.”

Lupin looks like I’ve just kicked a puppy. “Well they’re hardly in any position to do it themselves.”

I raise an eyebrow, but decide to let the topic drop. “So, did you get prefect again?”

He nods. “And I assume…”

“I did. Congratulations.”

“And you.” He’s looking at me weirdly. “Don’t you listen the WWN?”

I blink. “I’m sorry?” That was out of the blue.

“Wizarding Wireless Network. I assume you listen to it.”

I shake my head. “I’m not much of a radio fan. Why? What’s happened?”

Lupin opens his mouth to answer just as the shop assistant returns, my books piled high in her arms. “Will this be all, miss?”

“Uh, yes, thank you.” The lady starts to ring me up and I turn back to Lupin, but he’s disappeared into the maze of shelves along with his father.

I gather the bag of books into my arms and start out of the store. It’s about midday now, so I grab some lunch at a nearby cafe, Lupin’s odd behaviour all but forgotten.

 

It takes me a while to finish my shopping and the packages are awkward and ungainly. I’m forced to stop when I get to the Leaky Cauldron to reorganize them before they fall and break.

“Need a hand?” a voice chuckles as I’m surveying the pile. I push my hair away and look up to see Lachlan Tighe, the Gryffindor Prefect from the year above me.  

I smile. “I’m not going far. I just have to figure out how to get it all onto the Knight Bus.”

Lachlan holds out his hand. “Can I see your purse?” I give it to him a little uncertainly. He draws his wand and mutters an incantation that I can’t quite make out and hands it back to me. “That should help.”

“What did you do?” I ask, examining the bag. It looks unchanged.

“Undetectable Extension Charm and a Featherlight Charm. I can’t believe you didn’t do it earlier,” he chuckles, leaning against the wall next to me.

“I’m still underage,” I point out, but he just shrugs.

“A smart girl like you, I thought you’d be familiar with those ones.”

“I’ve heard of them, I just haven’t had cause to use them.” He smiles and my stomach does a little lurch.

Lachlan Tighe is the type of handsome that should be illegal. His hair is sun-kissed blond and long enough to be pulled into a bun, but just short enough to always be falling into his eyes. You’d think he played Quidditch, given the shape that he’s in and the fact that he always seems to have a light tan, no matter the time of year. He has bright, bottle-green eyes and an elegant, lithe grace to his movements. It honestly wouldn’t surprise me to hear that he has a Veela somewhere in his family tree.

“Aren’t you going to try it out?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, and I suddenly realize I’ve been staring. I blush and he chuckles again before helping me slide everything into the newly magicked purse. It all fits through the opening somehow, and when I close it and sling it onto my shoulder, it doesn’t feel any heavier than when I left my house this morning.

“That’s incredible. Thanks,” I say, smiling up at him. He’s probably around 1.8 meters and about ten stone, most of which is definitely muscle.

“My pleasure. Are you heading home now?” He’s still leaning against the wall with a little smile playing around his lips.

“I was going to, but mostly because I didn’t want to carry all the packages around,” I say casually. I reach up and start fiddling with a piece of my hair, as I always do when I start to get a bit nervous. “But now that you’ve solved that problem, I might hang around a bit.”

Lachlan’s smile turns into a playful smirk. “Want to get dinner?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

He laughs. “A date, Evans. Do you want to grab dinner tonight as a date?”

My heart skips a beat. “Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	7. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- SEVEN -_ **

 

_ In Memorandum _

_The following is a list of magical persons who are either missing or deceased:_

  * _Jock Aodh McCormick, 33 from Halkirk, Scotland – Half-Blood – Missing_
  * _Aithne Carey Slane, 35 from Ardee, Ireland – Half-Blood – Missing_
  * _Wirvan Doria Strange, 14 from Godric’s Hollow, England – Muggle-Born – Found – Deceased_



_~ Excerpt from the Daily Prophet_

 

**JAMES**

Everything hurts. I roll over, groaning, and the movement sends sickening pangs throbbing through my head. I open my eyes and try to sit up, which is maybe the stupidest decision of my life.

I end up bracing myself on the bedside table and emptying the all-but-non-existent contents of my stomach onto the floor. My fuzzy eyesight is only making the nauseating dizziness worse. I register voices as I retch for a second time, and then there are hands on my shoulders and someone says something, sending a wave of coolness over me, calming my stomach and easing the sickness in my head.

I fall back onto my bed, quivering as I always do after retching. I try to swallow and wince as my acid-burned throat constricts.

“Take it easy, James.”

I frown. “Hope?” Remus’s mother reaches over me and presses my spectacles into my hands, which I gratefully put on. Hope Lupin comes into focus, sitting on the edge of my bed, along with a nurse, who is stoically magicking my vomit away. “Sorry,” I mutter to her, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth self-consciously.

She smiles prettily at me and adjusts the head of my bed so it’s in an upright position. “Truth be told, its good to see you do something, even if it is vomiting. You’ve been out for so long we started to get worried.”

I frown. “How long _was_ I out?”

“Three days. I’ll get your Healer.”

I look over at Hope. “Three days?”

She nods. “Tomorrow’s September 1st. Don’t worry,” she adds hurriedly as my eyes widen and I sit up off the pillows in panic, “We’ve been talking with Dumbledore and both you and Sirius aren’t expected at school until after you’ve been released from here. Your teachers have been told, and they’ll all help you catch up when you get there. Right now, you need to heal.” Hope finishes her speech by pushing me gently back onto my pillows.

“James Potter?” I look up to see a male Healer walk into my curtained area. He smiles. “Good to see you up. I’m Healer Simon Aldridge. How are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” I say, and Hope clucks at me. Aldridge smiles and shines wandlight across my eyes. “Where are my parents? And Sirius? Are they all okay?”

“Relax,” he chuckles. “Everyone’s fine. Your mother, Euphemia, is talking a little longer than we might like, but it's understandable. She had the most sever injuries and she’s had a significant amount of healing work done in the past. As I’m sure you know, the body starts to develop immunities to spells after a while. Your father will probably be discharged later today and Mr. Black is mending well. He won’t be stuck here much longer either. It’s you we’ve all been concerned about.”

“Me?”

“You expended a lot of magical energy getting your mother out of the house. It’s rare for a wizard to burn himself up so completely, and it’s a rough thing to come back from. You must’ve done some powerful magic, kid.”

I frown, remembering. “I had to cast a Patronus.” And shift into my animagus form. But if Aldridge doesn’t say anything about it, then I won’t mention it either. No point in getting arrested, after all.

Aldridge launches into a round of routine tests and questions, finally leaving after condemning me to a day of broth and potions, saying, after I complain, that I can have solid food tomorrow if the liquids stay down.

 

I spend most of the day dozing, and when I wake up next, Dad’s the one sitting in the chair beside me. He looks exhausted and furious.

“Hey, Dad.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he says quietly.

“Same. About you, I mean,” I add hurriedly. “So, what’s up?” I ask cautiously when he continues to glower.

“I don’t know, James. I’m still trying to make sense of it. See, your mother’s rescue was somewhat odd.” I wince. “She was rescued by Sirius and a deer. Care to explain that?”

“Technically, it’s a stag,” I mumble.

Dad’s face is turning a dark shade of red. “What the hell were you thinking, James?” he whispers very loudly. “Do you have any idea how dangerous Animagus transformations are? And not to mention how incredibly illegal it is not to be registered?”

“How do you know we’re not registered?”

“I know you’re not registered, because if you were, it would have been all over the Daily Prophet. At the very least, your mother and I would have known because you can’t resist bragging about any accomplishment you make. Why the hell would you do this?”

“Because we can.”

“You keep saying _we_.”

I blink. “No I don’t.”

Dad’s glare strengthens. “James,” he says very evenly, “now is not the time to play games with me. Who else is an animagus? Sirius? Remus?”

“Sirius and Peter,” I say quietly. “We did it for Remus.”

Dad blanches. “Please tell me its not so you can be with him on the full moon.” When I stay quiet, Dad gets to his feet, dragging his hands down his face. “How did I manage to raise an idiot for a son?”

I flush. “I am not an idiot. I’m one of the youngest Animagi in history.”

“You cavort monthly with a werewolf! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

“Do you have any idea what happens if we don’t?” I snap back. “You’ve seen Remus’s scars. Those are nothing compared to what they used to be. He magics them all the time, so they’re fading bit by bit. The ones you can see are only the freshest ones. When we were first years, he was _made_ of scars. When he gets lonely during a moon, he bites and scratches himself. At least with us, he gets injured less. And Pads and I are big animals. We can control him.”

“And what happens if you can’t?”

“We’ve been doing it for a year and he hasn’t gotten the better of us yet,” I say coldly.

“And what if he you bites one of you? Or you get seriously injured?”

“Padfoot is good at healing charms.”

“That won’t cure a werewolf bite,” Dad snaps.

“We don’t _let_ him bite us.”

“You won’t always be able to stop him. James,” Dad says, exasperation leaking into his tone. Suddenly, he groans, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I’m rubbish at this. Your mother’s the strict one.” He sighs, and sits back down, leaning forwards earnestly. “Look, I don’t care that you’re an animagus. If I’m entirely honest, I’m fairly proud of the fact you are. What I don’t like is you using this skill to endanger your life every single month.”

“And what I’ve been trying to tell you is that there _is no danger_.”

“James…”

“Honestly, Dad,” I say. “We’re fine.”

“I’m not happy about this.”

“Yeah, I got that,” I say ruefully. “How’s Padfoot doing?”

Dad sighs, putting his head in his hands again. “He’s fine. He’ll be released tomorrow, and the doctors are thinking of letting you out the day after. If all goes well, you’ll miss the first week of school at most.” He hesitates before saying, “James. We need to talk about the manor.”

 

The first thing that Sirius and I do when I’m released is go to Diagon Alley. Remus was able to buy all of our books and supplies, but both of our trunks burned completely and my wand got lost in the escape. I need to replace it, and we both need an entirely new wardrobe.

“Where shall we start?” Sirius asks, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “We need clothes, your wand, new brooms, what else?”

“I need a new mirror. I lost that in the manor as well. Do you still have yours?”

Sirius pulls it out of his pocket and waves it at me. “One two-way mirror accounted for.”

I grimace. “Well, at least we won’t have to start the spell-work from scratch.”

“I’m guessing you want the wand first?” Sirius says as we approach Ollivanders.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead. Mind if I don’t come?”

I shrug. “Meet you at Madam Malkin’s after?”

“See you there,” Sirius nods and disappears into the crowd.

I carefully push open the door to the wand shop and step into its perpetual dusty gloom. “Hello?”

“One moment,” a quiet voice calls, I wait the few seconds it takes for Mr. Ollivander to emerge from the depths of his shop. “Ah, Mr. Potter. Dragon heartstring and aspen, 10 ½ inches, somewhat pliable if I remember correctly. Good for any number of things. What can I do for you today, Mr. Potter?”

I gulp nervously and my hand goes automatically into my hair. Ollivander’s always given me the creeps. “Er, it’s about my wand actually.”

The wandmaker raises an eyebrow. “Not causing you problems, I hope?”

“Well, I lost it. In the attack on my house. I think the WWN did a segment on it or something.”

“Yes, I heard. A tragedy. A terrible tragedy. And the loss of you wand makes it all the worse. A wonderful piece of craftsmanship, that wand was.”

“Yes, I was rather fond of it,” I say generously.

“I suppose you’ll be needing a new one then,” Ollivander says, peering down his nose at me.

I fiddle with my spectacles. “That was my thinking, yes.”

“I suppose we should start by re-measuring you. It’s been quite a while since you were here last.”

“Whatever you think’s best,” I say as Ollivander pulls out his tape measure.

“What are your thoughts for a career?” He guides it through the first few measurements and then lets it take over as he begins to search the boxes on the wall.

“I’m thinking of becoming an auror.”

“A fighting wand, then. Something strong. Aspen and dragon were last. But no two wands are the same. Perhaps we ought to start in the same family, though,” he mutters, wandering off. After a few minutes, he comes back with a selection of boxes stacked in his arms.

“Lets start with this one, shall we?” He pulls a wand out of the top box and hands it to me, saying, “Alder and dragon heartstring, 8 ½ inches, slightly— Nope!” he says, pulling the wand from my fingers before even finishing its description. Ollivander continues with a number of dragon heartstring wands before changing cores and giving me a selection of unicorn hair and phoenix feather wands.

“Try this one,” he says, handing me the second to last wand in his pile. “11 inches, mahogany, phoenix feather core. Pliable and excellent for transfiguration work. A little more power to this one. Here.” He places the handle in my palm, and immediately, a fiery tingle starts to spread out from where my skin is touching the wood. I point to the desk and _Accio_ the tape measure. It flies easily into my hand and I grin.

“We’ve found a winner, I see,” Ollivander says with a broad smile. I pay Ollivander seven galleons for the wand and then head off to Madam Malkin’s. Sirius is already being fitted by the time I arrive.

Madam Malkin clucks when she sees me, cooing over my bruised state and saying how sorry she is about the fire and how she’s always loved my parents. I’m perfectly happy to let her talk, and she chats away the whole fitting. Sirius is finished first and I watch him stand at the counter, flirting with the shop assistant.

Typical.

“Alright. That’s you done, dear,” Madam Malkin says, helping me pull the robe off. “We’ll get these owled to Hogwarts for the two of you so you needn’t worry about them. They should be done in a day or so.”

“Thanks,” I say, following her up to the front. I pay for both Sirius’s and my robes before we head out for Quality Quidditch supplies.

 

It’s late by the time we head back to the Leaky Cauldron. We leave our smaller packages in our rooms, having had the larger ones sent ahead to Hogwarts, and make our way back down to the pub for supper. Dad’s easy to find, sitting quietly at a table in the back and sticking out like a sore thumb among the establishments regular patrons.

Food arrives at about the same time we do and Sirius digs right in. I watch Dad.

“I won’t yell at you again, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says quietly, lifting a spoonful of stew to his mouth.

“I didn’t think you would,” I lie, taking a tentative bite. It’s not horrible, so I take another. Sirius is casting glances at us between bites.

Dad clears his throat. “I’ve spoken with Dumbledore and told him to expect you at school tomorrow afternoon.”

Sirius spews stew across the table. “What?”

“But we just got out of the hospital,” I protest. “And mum’s still there.”

“Your mother is well on her way to mending,” Dad says. “She’s out of danger as far as the Healers are concerned. And your education is important.”

“We don’t even have a house,” I argue. “Shouldn’t I at least stay until we have a place to live?”

“We just bought a house, actually. Remember Godric’s Hollow?”

I frown. “The town where we used to summer?”

Dad nods. “That’s the one. Well, the owners of the cottage we used to rent have decided, quite fortuitously for us, to move to America. I bought the house earlier today.”

“So now we live in Godric’s Godforsaken Hollow,” I grumble.

Dad frowns at me. “It’s not godforsaken, Jamesie-boy. It may be a little off the beaten track, but we have history there. Your ancestors are buried in that church yard.”

“The creepy one that gave me nightmares?” I demand.

Dad almost smiles. “Yes, that one. And you’ll hardly be home, so it really shouldn’t be the biggest deal. It’ll be just like old times.”

“Except instead of summers, it’ll be always,” I mutter darkly.

Sirius clears his throat. “So we’re going back to Hogwarts?”

Dad turns to him. “Yes. You’ll floo to the Three Broomsticks in the morning and one of the professors will meet you there and escort you to the castle. You got everything you needed?”

“Our uniforms won’t be ready for a day or so,” I try to stall.

“Then you’ll be able to wear muggle clothes,” Dad snaps, losing his patience. “Like it or not, James, you are returning to school.”

“But it’s pointless. Why am I wasting my time in school when I could be helping fight You-Know-Who?”

“Because you are still two years away from graduating,” Dad says tightly.

“And a better wizard than most of my classmates,” I scoff. “I could spell circles around the seventh years, and you know it.”

“You are underage, James. And what kind of life do you expect to have without an education?”

“What kind of life do _you_ expect me to have in a world ruled by Voldemort?” I speak too loudly and a hush falls over the bar. I feel a blush creeping up my face but refuse to break eye contact with my father.

“Go to the rooms, James.”

I can feel Sirius watching me. “I’m not a child.”

“Well, you’re certainly acting like one.”

“You can’t do this.”

“I’m your father, James. I can do whatever the hell I please.”

“For seven more months. And then I’ll be finally free of you,” I say venomously, getting to my feet.

“And until then, you will do as I say,” Dad shoots back.

Walking up those stairs to the room is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	8. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- EIGHT -_ **

_—the air is thick and hot and tight and constricting and i cant breathe… i cant breathe—_

 

**LILY**

James Potter and Sirius Black aren’t at school.

Until now, it never occurred to me that Potter going missing could be even more annoying than his usual pestering. I keep expecting him to appear around every corner, jump out of every shadow, or even to just swagger into whatever room I’m in with some glib witticism or flirtatious jest. I’d rather know where he is and what he’s doing so that I don’t have to flinch at every unexpected movement.

The rumour mill, of course, is in overdrive:

“I heard they joined You-Know-Who, became Death Eaters.”

“Don’t be stupid, after what happened this summer? That’s ridiculous. James ran away to marry a muggle girl and Sirius is in Azkaban for helping him hide from the authorities.”

“No, no, I heard it was a house-elf and that he couldn’t come back because he was pregnant.”

“How the hell can a guy get pregnant? Anyways, it’s September Hines who’s pregnant and James was expelled because it’s his.”

“Then why is Hines still here? And where did Sirius go?”

“You’re all wrong. He left because of Lily Evans. He couldn’t handle another year with her, so he quit school.” The girl who’s talking shoots me a dirty glance.

Alice rolls her eyes. “Don’t listen to them. You know they’re just jealous you captured the hearts of both James Potter _and_ Lachlan Tighe.”

“I’ve hardly captured Lachlan’s heart,” I say, as yet another group of girls gives me a dirty look, this group from Ravenclaw. “And I can’t help but feel some of these hit home.”

“Even if they’re fake?”

“How fake can they be if everyone believes them?”

Mary rolls her eyes. “Did you or did you not just hear a girl suppose that _James was pregnant_? I mean, come on, how would that even work?”

“Well-” Alice starts to say, smirking, before Mary cuts her off, squealing, “It was rhetorical! I don’t want to know!”

“But why aren’t they here?” I growl. “School started last Thursday. They’ve missed a whole week of classes!”

Alice raises an eyebrow as we walk into Greenhouse 4. “I don’t know why you care so much. I would have thought Potter not being here would have you singing from the rooftops. And besides, you should be focusing on the boy who’s here, not the one who isn’t,” she adds with a wink.

I saw Lachlan again the week before school started, and he’s smiled at me when we pass in the hallways, but he’s hardly my boyfriend. We haven’t really talked since we arrived at school. And he never even tried to kiss me… I was probably just a summer distraction, that’s all. After all, what could the Head Boy possible see in _me_?

I glower at Alice and start to pull my hair back into a bun. Mary does the same. “It’s not that I’m unhappy Potter’s not here,” I say, ignoring her comment, “I’m really quite ecstatic. It’s just that since I don’t know _where_ he is, I feel like he’s about to ambush me from every shadow or corner.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. “Ambush you with what? Roses and exclamations of love? The one I’d be worried about is Snape.”

“Sev wouldn’t hurt me,” I say quietly as Professor Sprout walks in.

Alice snorts, but doesn’t say anything as Sprout starts to take attendance, beginning with, “Mr. Black.”

“Not back yet,” Lupin calls and Sprout nods and continues with, “Ms. Boyle,” and “Ms. Evans.” She continues down the line until, “Mr. Pettigrew.” Pettigrew answers and then Professor Sprout looks back at Lupin. “I’m assuming Mr. Potter is still out as well?” Lupin nods and Professor Sprout sighs.

“Very well. Let’s begin, shall we? First lesson is Venomous Tentacula. What can you tell me about this particular plant?”

 

Potter is still absent at lunch and when Slughorn calls Black’s and Potter’s names at the beginning of Potions class, Lupin excuses them again and Slughorn just nods before launching into the lesson.

We’ve just been released to start preparing our Cure for Boils (a relatively simple potion) when the door opens and Sirius Black stalks in, followed closely by James Potter. Black hands Slughorn a piece of violet paper and he passes him without stopping.

My stomach lurches sickeningly as they pass by my bench. Both boys are wearing muggle clothes and only carrying their books. Neither has their potions kit, phials, scales, or cauldrons. And their skin…

Every inch of visible skin is mottled with bruises, some of them still a livid purple or red, but most fading into yellow and green. As Potter passes, he tugs at his sleeves self-consciously, puling them down over his hands. Black walks with his head high, daring anyone to comment.

Both boys go directly to the back of the classroom where Lupin and Pettigrew are sitting and launch into a heated and whispered conversation.

“Merlin’s bloody bloomers,” Alice breathes, staring at the back of the classroom. “I heard the broadcast, I just didn’t think it could possibly be true.”

“What broadcast?” I ask, frowning over at her. “What’s happened?”

“Death Eaters attacked them over the summer. There was nothing about it in the prophet, but-”

“Actually there was,” Mary whispers, turning around. She works at the station ahead of us. Right now, she’s bending down to pull something out of her bag. “It was the front-page story this morning. I think everyone’s ignoring it because the speculation was more interesting, but now… Here,” she says, spreading the paper out in front of us. “Read.”

 

_ ATTACK ON THE POTTERS LEAVES FAMILY HOME IN RUINS _

_ Are any of us safe from the Death Eaters? _

_The Potters are a well-respected and well-known family. Their reputation describes them to be the epitome of what a well-bred witch or wizard should to aspire to be. With an impressive Manor staffed by twenty house-elves who are supervised by a local witch, the Potters have a spotless reputation as being honourable, kind, and generous purebloods._

_Mr. Fleamont Potter and his wife, Auror Euphemia Potter, have worked tirelessly to bring equal opportunities to all witches and wizards, giving their support, both moral and financial, to causes such as_ Support for Squibs _and_ Rights for Werewolves _. Their son, Mr. James Potter, is one of the most well-liked members of the Gryffindor House at Hogwarts and has been a chaser for the house Quidditch team since his second year, breaking the school record for total points scored by a single player. It is the general consensus that the Potters are the ideal pureblood family._

_As such, the recent attack on the Potter family comes to all of us here at the Prophet as a great shock and a source of much heartache. A representative from The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Alistor Moody, of the famed auror family Moody, has confirmed that three Death Eaters operating under direct orders from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named perpetrated the attack._

_“We were woken up by three of them,” says Mr. Fleamont Potter, the developer of_ Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and Scalp Treatment _and the patriarch of the Potter household. “They came into our bedchamber and threatened [Euphemia] and I with death if we did not join the Death Eater cause.” The Potters’ refused the demand and were forced to fight their way out of their own home. The Death Eaters employed the use of Fiendfyre in an attempt to kill the Potter family, resulting in the ruination of the stately Potter Manor and the death of all the house-elf as well as Miss Pippin Ashworth, a young witch the Potters had employed to run the household after her family was killed last year by Death Eater Alence Ogden._

_Ogden was pursued last year and was, in fact, caught by Auror Euphemia Potter herself. As such, it comes as a greater shock to find that he was one of their attackers. A thorough investigation into the operations of the Wizengamot has been launched, headed by Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School, in order to determine how Ogden managed to escape from custody, and how such a serious matter was covered up._

_The three attacking Death Eaters have been identified as Alence Ogden, Agathe Shorrock and Lemmy Oteri. Auror Moody confirmed that the Death Eaters died while trying to kill the Potters and their summer guest, Mr. Sirius Black. We are assured that they were killed by their own spells and that all spells cast by their intended victims were non-harming._

_The four wizards have been recovering in a closed ward at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, all of them having sustained major wounds, both from the spells and from the smoke. We are told that Auror Euphemia Potter became trapped in the house as she attempted to rescue Miss Ashworth, and that Mr. Black and Mr. J. Potter went back in to save her in a grand act of heroism. Only Euphemia Potter is still recovering, but we are told that her injuries are non-lethal._

_We regret to report that, despite Auror Potter’s great efforts, Miss Ashworth had sustained horrible injuries during the fires and succumbed to them before Mr. J. Potter and Mr. Black could arrive._

_We have delayed reporting these events out of respect for the family._

_We here at the Prophet send our thoughts and prayers to the Potters in their time of trial._

**_Written by: Elvira Goode_ **

**_Field Reporter, Daily Prophet_ **

 

“Bloody hell,” Alice breathes, looking back at the boys. “No wonder they look like so bad. The WWN report didn’t say any of this, just that it was Death Eaters and they attacked the Potters.”

“I guess that’s why Lupin was buying their supplies,” I say quietly. Mary raises an eyebrow and I tell them about Flourish and Blots. I blush, remembering the events. “Merlin, I can’t believe I was so rude!”

“You didn’t know,” Alice says.

“Ignorance is hardly an excuse,” I mumble.

“That’s enough chatter. Time to do your work,” Slughorn says and the whispers around the classroom fizzle out.

 

**JAMES**

Everyone stares at Sirius and I as we walk to the back of the classroom and sit down.

“You look like hell,” Remus says frankly.

Sirius barks out a laugh. “The Healers don’t like to use magic on things that can heal themselves. They already thought Prongs and I had an unnaturally high tolerance to healing magic, even for Quidditch players our age.”

“Guess those moons are starting to catch up with us,” I mutter and out of the corner of my eye, I see Remus wince. I notice Evans and her two roommates huddling over the Prophet and whispering excitedly. Slughorn calls for focus and Evans blushes, shoving the paper into her bag.

I turn back to the others. “So, Dad knows.”

Peter frowns. “Knows what?”

“Everything. I had to transform to get Mum out and he flipped.”

“Buggering hell,” Peter says quietly, combing his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “And it didn’t take him long to figure out _why_ we’re Animagi.”

“I take it he’s upset.”

I snort. “Yeah, just a bit.”

“So what now?”

I look at Remus, startled. “What you mean, what now?”

“What do we do now that your not coming on any full moons?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t be stupid. I don’t care what he says; he can’t stop me from going with you. I just thought you might like to know that someone else knows about us, that’s all.”

 Remus smiles thankfully and starts to tell us what-all we’ve missed.

Potions ends quickly and we follow Remus and Peter to our next class, Defence Against the Dark Arts.

The new professor, Reba Spalding, is young and beautiful. And I can’t help but stare. She’s leaning over her desk, frowning as she reviews a few papers. Sirius whistles loudly as we settle into desks near the back on the left. Professor Spalding’s head snaps up, her chocolate coloured curls bouncing as she looks sharply in our direction. I give her a wink and she smiles, shaking her head.

“You would be Potter and Black, I presume?” she says from the front of the room.

Sirius smirks. “You can call me whatever you want, love,” he says, letting his gaze wander up and down her form. Remus reaches over and smacks him upside the head, causing Spalding to smile slightly.

“Watch the tone, Mr. Black,” she says cheerfully. “I may still be a Gryffindor at heart, but carry on like that, and I _will_ have to take points.”

Sirius pouts, and I shake my head, grinning widely. As the rest of the desks fill, I stretch, feeling my spine pop, before settling my hands behind my head, and tipping my chair onto its back legs. I notice Snivellus Snape enter the room with his hoard of Death Eater friends and smirk at him. Inside, I’m glowering.

Two classes back-to-back with the Snakes.

Bloody. Fantastic.

Spalding waits until we’re all settled before calling role. Satisfied that everyone is present and accounted for, she crosses to the front of her desk and then boosts herself up so she’s sitting on top of it, leaning forwards to brace her arms on her knees.

“So, last class,” Spalding starts, “we started talking about what this term will entail and began an introduction to non-verbal spells, a skill you will need to master for not only my class, but Transfiguration and Charms as well for those of you who chose to get the N.E.W.T. credit. Today, I want to see what you know practically.”

Spalding’s looking around and catching people’s eyes one at a time. I can’t help but watch her with fascination. She’s actually trying to personable. Most teachers don’t give a damn.

She continues. “My job is to teach you defence, and its all well and good to learn the spells and the theories, but defence is a hell of a lot more than just spell knowledge. Mostly, it’s quick thinking. If your wand is too slow, you’re dead.” For some reason, she chooses me to direct this last comment to. “So today, we will watch each other duel.”

There’s a shift in the room. Sirius grins ferally and I feel my twitching energy subside. There’s an audible click as I shift my weight forwards, bringing my chair down onto all four feet. Evans and some of the other girls shift nervously, but I notice Snivellus eyeing me like a piece of meat. I sneer at him and, under the table, Sirius flips him off, a muggle gesture he picked up recently.

“Alright. Push back the desks and pair off,” Spalding says, hopping to the floor. Sirius and I immediately grin at each other, and Spalding catches our look, paling slightly. “Ah-hah, no boys. I think I’ll split the two of you up. I’ve heard enough stories to know I don’t want to witness your mischief first hand. Mr. Potter, you can go with Mr. Snape, and Mr. Black with Ms. Bulstrode.”

My face immediately settles into a fierce scowl and I’m opening my mouth to protest when the most unlikely person comes to my defence.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Professor,” Evans says, raising her hand, “But that might not be the wisest pairing considering their, ah, history.”

“Right you are, Miss Evans, right you are. And thank you for volunteering.”

“I’m sorry?” Evans asks, looking thoroughly confused.

“Yes, Miss Evans and Mr. Potter, Miss Payne and Mr. Black,” Spalding says happily before returning to the front of the class. The desks have been pushed to the walls and other students are all huddled around the perimeter. “If half of you would start us off?”

Evans and I remain in the centre of the room and a few others shuffle to join us. The rest of the Marauders take seats to watch. Even Remus looks excited to see me duel our Gryffindor red-head.

Spalding is perched on her desk again. “And everyone on the perimeter, let’s put up a protective shield, shall we? _Protego_ on three. One, two, _three!”_

The class casts the spell at the same time and silvery protective barriers bloom into existence, enclosing us in a circle in the middle of the classroom.

Around us, the other pairs start trading spells and I take a few steps towards my housemate, twirling my wand between my fingers and smirking.

I’m pissing her off. Her fair skin is getting redder by the second as her glare intensifies tenfold.

“Shall we begin, Evans?” I ask, giving her an elegant bow.

Evans glares, points her wand and says, “ _Expelliarmus_.”

I merely flick my wand and murmur, “ _Protego_.”

“ _Stupefy_.”

“ _Protego_. _Locomotor Wibbly_ ,” I say, incanting the spells so close together that they almost run into each other.

I give Evans a sweet smile as her knees buckle under her. I can hear the boys laughing and she glares. I allow her to cast the counter-curse, and then she tries, “ _Petrificus Totalus_.”

“ _Finite Incantatem. Locomotor Mortis_.”

“ _Protego. Serpensortia._ ”

I wave my wand and transfigure the snake lily petals before it even hits the ground. Lily scowls as she recognizes them and I grin, before saying “ _Rictusempra_.”

Evans hurriedly blocks it, and then sends a Bat Bogey Hex at me, followed by a Confundus Charm. I turn both away with my wand.

Some part of me is analyzing and telling me that she did the double attack to try to catch me off guard. But I spent the summer practicing duels with the Marauders and my parents. Mum’s a brilliant duellist, and even she has difficulty beating my dad.

This duel has just barely started, but I’m suddenly struck by a strong desire to stop playing with Evans and just end this. It’s pointless, anyhow. I’m not learning anything and I’d rather just sit down and doodle.

I give her a smirk (just for show) and twirl my wand once.

Evans blinks, and some instinct is clearly telling her she’s in trouble. I start a rapid-fire series of hexes and charms, naming them all out quickly, clearly, and loudly. Snivellus and the other Slytherins are watching me closely. May as well show them exactly what they’re dealing with.

I want everyone’s attention and I get it.

The farther I get in the sequence, the more students stop to watch us. Sirius and the other Marauders are grinning and Sirius actually begins to snigger. They all know exactly where this pattern is going. Dad had developed this particular pattern of spells over the summer. None of the spells are fatal, but if even one lands, the victim is doomed.

And they know I’m going easy right now, casting the spells out loud.

As I’m nearing the end of the pattern, I start casting every other spell non-verbally, and then all of them. I’m careful to keep an even beat, almost casting the spells as though to music. The steady pacing will play into my advantage when I end this.

It’s all Evans can do to watch my wand movements and repeat, “ _Protego_!” over and over and over. Her hair is frizzing and her eyes are wide with panic.

I smirk and cast a quick, “ _Levicorpus_ ,” then the counter-charm, followed by a full body bind, picking up speed just enough to get in-between her defensive spells, which she has synced with my earlier rhythm.

Evans shrieks as her ankle yanks her into the air and then to the earth only for her to be frozen, unable to move.

Sirius and Peter are laughing hysterically and even Remus can’t help smiling broadly. My eyes catch Snape’s and he’s white with rage, his mouth pinched and tight. It must be killing him to know I defeated Evans with _his_ spells.

Speaking of…

“Sorry, Evans,” I say, plastering on a grin. The protective spells around the room are down and the boys are making their way over. I wave my wand at Evans’s frozen form and remove the spells, then reach down a hand to pull her to standing. Predictably, she shoves my hand away and stands on her own.

“Temper, temper!” Sirius scolds, still laughing.

“Merlin, Evans, I never knew you were such a sore loser,” Peter jibes, and Evans turns scarlet.

“Oh, stuff it you two,” Remus says, at last managing to smother his grin. “You alright, Lily?

She gives him a scathing look and stalks off to the side of the room.

A twist of guilt kicks in and I’m just thinking about trying to apologize when Professor Spalding reaches me. “Very good, Mr. Potter, excellent form, excellent spell casting. Your wand-work is spot on and you’ve already _mastered_ non-verbal spells.” She is very clearly impressed, and I give her a smirk and a wink, running a hand absently through my hair. “Forty points to Gryffindor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	9. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:   
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- NINE -_ **

 

_ In Memorandum _

_The following is a list of magical persons who are either missing or deceased:_

  * _Carbrey Cahal Tierney, 56 from Quigley’s Point, Ireland – Muggle-Born – Deceased_
  * _Finola Mallaidh Tierney, 54 from Quigley’s Point, Ireland – Half-Blood – Deceased_
  * _Eilish Sorcha Tierney, 5 from Quigley’s Point, Ireland – Half-Blood – Deceased_
  * _Jock Aodh McCormick, 33 from Halkirk, Scotland – Half-Blood – Found – Deceased_
  * _Aithne Carey Slane, 35 from Ardee, Ireland – Half-Blood – Missing_



_~ Excerpt from the Daily Prophet_

 

**JAMES**

I’m starving by the time class ends, and Sirius clearly feels the same way. As soon as Spalding releases us, he’s turning to me and asking, “Kitchen?”

“Please,” I groan, and Remus snorts.

“All you two ever do is eat.”

“All we’ve had for weeks is hospital food,” I point out. “Hardly the most appetizing fare.” I pocket my wand and grab my textbooks before leading the way out of the classroom.

“Isn’t the moon soon?” Peter asks, hurrying to catch up to the rest of us. He’s considerably shorter than Remus, Sirius, and I, so he’s always trailing behind.

Remus grimaces. “It’s next Wednesday. Not looking forwards to that in the slightest.”

I frown when I see Snape trailing us, trying to listen in. Sirius notices too and grins. “Well,” he says loudly. “It is unfortunate that every month you go on a crazy rampage. Attacking helpless villagers and stealing babies is frowned upon. But what can you do, Moony? It’s hardly your fault you’re a werewolf!”

Remus glares over at Sirius and then notices Snape. His lips twitch as he replies in an equally loud voice, “I don’t _want_ to hurt the villagers. They just get so upset when I eat their children. If only they’d stow the fire and pitchforks, we could all just be friends!”

“Honestly, they should be happy that you’re helping to control the population,” Peter adds. “If it weren’t for philanthropic werewolves like yourself, surely we’d be overrun by magical brats. And who wants those little bastards tugging at their legs constantly?”

I glance back again and notice that Snape has turned away, his face twisted into a disgusted sneer. “Dirty bugger,” I growl as he leaves.

Remus sighs, and shakes his head. “We should really stop goading him.”

“But it’s so much fun,” Sirius pouts. I snort and push open the painting hiding the entrance to the kitchens.

The house-elves are all too happy to wrap up some sandwiches for us. They heap food into our bags and shove a few bottles of milk into Remus’s arms. Remus tries to protest, and I feel a pang when one of them starts to lecture us about the importance of drinking milk, just like Kapri used to when I was little.

Finally, Remus gives in, and we take the food to our tree by the lake. Remus takes off his robes and transfigures them into a blanket for us to sit on.

Sirius immediately pulls the sandwiches, apples, and biscuits out of Remus and Peter’s bags as the rest of us settle onto the blanket.

It’s hot out, and I’m very tempted to take off the long-sleeved shirt I’m wearing, but I notice a couple of fourth-year Hufflepuffs walking by, glancing at the bruises covering me and Sirius, and I think the better of it. Despite the heat, I pull the sleeves even further over my hands.

Sirius follows my gaze to the Hufflepuffs and glowers. They duck their heads and pick up the pace, but not quite fast enough. Sirius sends a Bat-Bogey Hex their way and they shriek as it takes effect.

Remus frowns. “Was that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Sirius snaps. “We’re not some circus curiosity. If they want to stare, they’ve got to pay.” He grins. “Even if only by lending their time to as target practice.”

I snort, and grab a sandwich. Remus is still frowning, but he doesn’t say anything, just hands one of the milk bottles to Peter and sets the other two in the middle of the food pile, keeping the fourth for himself. He unscrews the lid and takes a swig.

I swallow my bite and hold out a hand to Sirius. “Do you have your mirror on you?”

Sirius grunts and shoves the rest of his sandwich in his mouth before pulling the mirror out of pocket and tossing it to me.

Remus pulls a face. “Padfoot, stop acting like a dog and chew with your mouth closed.”

Sirius grins at Remus. “Ish no’ a sha-wa, ish shee foo. Shee?” he says and opens his mouth.

“Lovely,” Remus grimaces as Peter laughs. Sirius grins again around his mouthful and tries to swallow only to end up choking. He turns bright red and starts to cough viscously which only makes Peter laugh harder. Remus starts to lose it too when Sirius attempts to take a swig of milk to calm the coughing, only to spill half of it down his chin. Even I can’t help but smile at the spectacle.

Finally, the coughing subsides and Peter wipes away the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Fat lot of good you are,” Sirius grumbles, but the effect is ruined by his smile.

I shake my head and pull out my new wand and the small mirror I picked up in the Alley. It takes me a moment to remember the series of spells that we used to create the original pair, but after a moment, I tap both my mirror and Sirius’s and start the incantations.

It takes a minute for the charms to take effect, but then the mirrors’ surfaces fog over and then clear to reveal the trees above them. I pick up Sirius’s mirror, and toss it back to him, and the view in the one still sitting in front of me tilts and flips wildly, until it settles into a crystal clear image of Sirius’s palm as his hand closes on its twin.

I grin. “Looks good. We’ll have to test them properly later, but-”

“It’s Mackers,” Peter hisses, and Sirius and I hurriedly shove the mirrors into our pockets. Remus tosses an apple to Sirius and I pick up my sandwich again, taking another bite as McGonagall walks over to us.

“Mr. Potter and Mr. Black. I need to speak with you in my office.” Sirius sighs and takes another bite of his apple. McGonagall’s glower intensifies. “Now,” she says, and turns on her heal, clearly assuming we’ll follow.

“But I’m eating!” Sirius yells after McGonagall, swallowing his mouthful.

“And we didn’t do anything wrong!” I add.

“Now!”

I groan and stand up. I say goodbye to Remus and Peter and trot to catch up with our Head of House, practically dragging Sirius away from our picnic. I glance nervously at over at him as we near her office. He’s stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, and assumed a bored expression: Sirius code for “I’m nervous.”

McGonagall stops in front of her office and turns to me saying, “Mr. Potter, if you will wait here, I would like a word in private first with Mr. Black.” I exchange a glance with Sirius and he gives me a little nod. I shrug and sink back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the flagstones as McGonagall ushers Sirius in ahead of her.

 

**SIRIUS**

I settle into my usual seat in front of McGonagall’s desk. James and I have been in the Trouble Chairs often enough, that we’re now as comfortable in them as we are in Gryffindor Tower.

McGonagall sits down at her desk and looks at me for a moment, before asking, “How are you doing?”

I grimace. “As well as I _can_ be when Mother Mia is still in St. Mungo’s and Monty’s moving into the new house by himself.”

McGonagall smiles wryly. “But I assume your health is adequate?”

“Wouldn’t be here if it weren’t,” I say shortly.

McGonagall frowns, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she pulls a piece of parchment out of her desk and hands it to me. “Perhaps you could explain this, Mr. Black?”

I take the parchment and start to read.

 

**_July 28 th, 1976_ **

_Dear Headmaster:_

_It is with a heavy heart that I write to you today. It has come to my attention that my son, Sirius, has formed an unhealthy relationship with three other boys in his year by the names of James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. While his attachment to these classmates is hardly a new one, it has been made clear to my wife and I that we were ill advised to allow the acquaintanceships to flourish._

_I am writing to you now, Albus, because my son has not returned home from Hogwarts this summer. Walburga and I are led to believe that he has decided to spend the summer with the Potter family, a decision that he made entirely on his own without consulting us. If he had, I can assure you, we would not have allowed it._

_If Sirius should decide to return to Hogwarts, I ask you to do two things: Firstly, ask him to cease all interactions with the aforementioned classmates and to instead place himself in the company of well-bred families such as the members of the Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, or Snape families. And secondly, if he will not remove himself from the heinous company of his fellow Gryffindors, please inform him that he will be disinherited and will receive none of his inheritance, in addition to being removed from the family tree._

_Yours, Orion Black_

 

I want to swear and yell and curse that damned bastard to Azkaban and back. I knew it was coming – I _knew_ it. It’s why I let James buy all my new supplies with money from the Potter vault. But it’s one thing to expect it, and another to see it in writing in front of me.

But I just snort at the parchment back before leaning back into my chair and keeping my gaze fixed firmly on the windows behind McGonagall’s head.

McGonagall takes a careful breath and braces her elbows on the desk in front of her, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth, before speaking quietly. “I would like to start by saying, if you don’t mind, that I deplore the actions of your father. In my personal opinion, it is far from right for a parent to attempt to exercise such control over the life of their child. However, this is very serious. May I ask _why_ you didn’t return home?”

I feel my mouth twisting into a sneer. “Let’s see how incredibly eager you’d be to return to a house where the word _Mudblood_ is part of every conversation, and every muggle death is cause for a celebratory supper. If I’d gone home, I’d probably have a Dark Mark right now.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows almost disappear into her hairline. “That’s a very serious accusation, Mr. Black.”

The sneer deepens. “What can I say? Old You-Know-Who seems to like ‘em young.”

“Then I take it you will be keeping your current friendships?”

“ _Obviously_.”

“And you understand that will result in you being entirely cut off from your family.”

“I’d rather spend ten years in Azkaban for a murder I didn’t commit than ever set foot in Grimmauld Place again.”

McGonagall nods firmly and starts to pull some forms out of her desk. “Very well then. For now, there should be very little effect on your way of life. I believe you’ve already purchased your supplies for this year?” I nod. “Then there are really only a few instances in which you may need monetary support. I’m sure you’re unaware, but when it comes to our orphaned students, we like to try to find a family to support them so they may have someone to go to for monetary issues as well as a legal guardian until their seventeenth birthday.”

I feel my anger fizzle away, replaced by a tired emptiness. I sigh and lean forwards, bracing my head in my hands. “Monty and Mia might agree to be my guardians.”

McGonagall nods and jots down a few notes. “I’ll write to them and inquire, but in the meantime, if you need anything at all, you come to me, do you understand?” Her expression softens into what I would’ve called one of affection if I weren’t talking about McGonagall. “I may be your professor, but, believe it or not, I _am_ rather fond of you, Sirius. It takes great courage to make a decision like this. You’re a true Gryffindor.” My throat starts to feel suspiciously tight. McGonagall gives me a little smile before she returns to her forms. “The first Hogsmeade trip will be sometime next month, and if we don’t have a surrogate family for you by then, I will provide you with some pocket money for the trip myself. Beyond that, come to me if you’re low on quills, ink, parchment, potions supplies, anything like that and I’ll replenish them for you.”

She smiles at me again. “I know this is a lot to take in. But you will be just fine, Sirius. You can rely on Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew. And you can rely on me. I’m sure it doesn’t mean much, but I’m very proud of you.”

I blink.

_I’m proud of you_.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard those words directed at me. The tightness gets worse, and thankfully, McGonagall puts the parchment away. “Do you have any questions?” I shake my head. “Would it be alright if I bring Mr. Potter in now, or would you like a moment?”

“No.” I clear my throat. My voice is a little too thick for comfort. “It’s fine.”

McGonagall nods. “I won’t say anything to him or anyone else. I’ll have to keep Dumbledore apprised of your new situation, but beyond that, I will keep everything we have discussed in complete confidence. I’ll write to the Potters immediately and start looking for a sponsor family. But I’ll leave it to you to decide if you want to tell anyone else.” And with that, she walks over to her door to call in James.

I quickly rearrange my posture so I’m sitting back in the chair with my arms crossed. I’ll tell James about everything later. When I tell Peter and Remus.

McGonagall directs James into the chair next to me and resumes her seat. She looks at James. “I’ve already spoken with Mr. Black about this, but how is _your_ general health?”

James shrugs. “Well enough.”

“Good. Then let’s discuss your upcoming detentions–”

“But we haven’t done anything wrong!” James protests, gaping at her.

McGonagall peers at us over the rims of her spectacles in a very Dumbledore-esk manner. “I was talking about the two months of detention that I assigned to you at the end of last year. It has been decided that you will serve with Mr. Filch and Hagrid, assisting the two of them in looking after the castle and grounds. They will begin on Monday. The two of you will trade off, one of you with Hagrid one night, the other with Filch, and then switch the next night. Detentions every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from eight o’clock until ten o’clock. That is all. You may go.”

James sighs as we make our way out into the hallway and start back to the Black Lake.

“Dibs on Hagrid,” I say as walk out onto the grounds.

“Damn it,” James hisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	10. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- TEN -_ **

 

_…The fortuitous appearance of an unknown group of wizards at the –shire attack last evening bought the aurors the minutes needed in order to arrive at the scene. With the combined force of the auror department and the unknown organization, the Death Eaters were beaten back and forced to flee into the night._

_Although none the –shire residents managed to escape unscathed, there were thankfully no deaths. A few residents were injured badly enough to require admittance to St. Mungo’s, but the majority were tended to at the scene…_

_~ Excerpt from an article in the Daily Prophet_

 

**LILY**

I hate James Potter.

I hate him, hate him, completely and utterly _hate him_.

How I could ever have been worried for his health and safety, I don’t know. It must have been a moment of insanity.

I’m utterly furious as I storm out of Defence Against the Dark Arts and Alice has to run to catch up with me.

“Breathe,” she says, matching my pace. “Come on, Lily. Just breathe.”

“I’ll kill him,” I growl.

Alice raises an eyebrow. “For being good at Defence?”

“For being a complete bastard and a show-off.”

“And getting rewarded for it,” Alice says quietly, and I stop walking to stare at her. She raises an eyebrow. “Well, that is what’s really pissing you off, isn’t it? Not only that he completely and utterly bested you in that duel, but that Spalding gave him forty points for it.”

I clench my jaw and push my hair out of my face. “It’s bloody favouritism,” I spit, and resume walking.

“Something that you never take issue with when _you’re_ the favourite.”

“What’s your problem, Alice?”

She rolls her eyes. “You. You can’t stand the thought that James Potter might actually be smart.”

“He’s not,” I grind out.

Alice raises an eyebrow. “No, he is. He helped you through the Transfiguration exam, he’s as good as you at Charms when he tries, and now he’s proved he’s brilliant at duelling and Defence Against the Dark Arts. And it’s hardly a surprise considering his parents.”

I glare at my friend. “Again, what’s your point?”

Alice sighs and grabs my arm, forcing me to stop walking and face her. “You can’t pretend you’re above all these prejudices if you’re going to insist on being prejudiced against members of your own house. It’s hypocritical.”

I see Hestia Jones passing by with September Hines, one of the other Gryffindor girls in our year. Hestia catches my eye and opens her mouth as though she wants to say something, but shuts it instead, letting her eyes fall to the floor. I frown at the oddness of it – Hestia and I rarely talk – but let it go.

“I’m not prejudiced,” I say, bringing my attention back to Alice.

“Then admit that James Potter is smart.”

“But he isn’t,” I insist, jerking my arm from Alice’s grip and resuming my path towards the grounds.

Alice lets out an exasperated groan and runs to catch up with me again. “Then what, you _let_ him win today?”

“He got lucky.”

“Yes,” Alice says sarcastically. “He’s fresh out of the hospital, broken and bruised, and on top of that, just so absolutely _lucky_ that he caught you on an off day and was able to beat all the odds and best you in Defence. You know,” she insists, “considering who his parents are, that’s about as believable as saying he and Snape are in a secret gay relationship.”

I fake a gasp. “They _are_?”

Alice gives me an exasperated glare. “Come _on_ , Lily. I thought we were making progress!”

“With what?”

“With you agreeing Potter was decent. You told me last term that-”

“I believe,” I say, hurriedly interrupting, “that what I said last term was conditional upon a complete overhaul of his entire personality. And I haven’t seen that happen. In fact, it looks like he’s gotten worse.”

Alice sighs, but finally drops it as Mary meets us on her way down from Divination. “You will never guess what the tea leaves said!” she exclaims, falling into step on the other side of Alice. Alice laughs, and even I allow my glower to crack into a smile.

Mary keeps chatting away about this year’s predictions, about how she saw Potter saving Sev and she’ll get pregnant before 7th year starts. “Which is completely ridiculous,” she giggles. “I’m not called the Virgin Mary for nothing.”

“Well, technically that’s _exactly_ why you’re called the Virgin Mary,” Alice smirks. Mary lets out a long-suffering sigh and shakes her head. We’re just passing through entrance hall when I hear someone call my name. I turn in its direction to see Lachlan Tighe making his way towards me.

Mary squeaks and Alice drags her away, calling, “We’ll be at the usual tree.”

I’m intensely aware of all the stares from students passing by as Lachlan stops in front me, grinning widely and flipping a card of heavy parchment between his fingers. “Hey, Evans. Did you get one?” I frown at it for a second before I recognize it. With a smile, I reach into my bag and pull out the envelope that Slughorn had slipped to me at the end of class earlier. I hold it up, and Lachlan grins. “Back in the Slug Club!”

I smile. “Do you know who else got one?”

“Well, Phyllis Carmondy, the Ravenclaw prefect in my year, got one, but I think that’s it from the seventh years. Most of the club is your year and fifth.” He smiles ruefully and a dimple forms in one cheek. “I think he’s already weeded out the hopeless cases in our group.”

“I suppose you’re glad to make the cut.”

“Well, it certainly is an honour. Ol’ Sluggy seems to think I could make Minister someday.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Do you _want_ to be Minister?”

“I think I’d rather be a teacher,” he says, laughing. “But I’m not about to tell that to Slughorn. It’s nice to have someone believe so fully in your future, you know? And Merlin knows that’s the _only_ reason I’m in the club.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. You _are_ Head Boy after all.”

“But Lorna’s Head Girl, and she didn’t make it,” Lachlan points out.

“Fair point.”

Lachlan swings an arm over my shoulder as we start to walk out onto the grounds. A stupidly happy bubble forms in my chest when I realise that my head only comes up to about his shoulder. I’ve always loved tall boys. No idea why. “You know,” Lachlan says casually, “you never congratulated me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “On what?”

“On being Head Boy,” he pouts.

I laugh. “Congratulations, Tighe. It’s amazing.”

“Thanks. I thought so,” he says with false arrogance. “You know,” he continues with that exaggeratedly entitled tone, “if this relationship is going to work, I’ll expect compliments every day.”

My heart gives an out-of-sync thump. “Relationship?”

Lachlan looks down at me with a light frown, dropping the jokes. “I never asked you to be my girlfriend, did I?”

I swear my eyes go as wide as saucers and I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears. “Girlfriend?” I squeak.

Lachlan grins and takes his arm off my shoulder so he can hold both my hands. Standing in front of me, he drops down to one knee. I glance around quickly. We’re in the middle of the lawn in front of the school. There are students everywhere. Mary and Alice have claimed our tree by the Black Lake, and a few trees over, Lupin and Pettigrew are sitting on a blanket with a heap of food. And everyone is staring at us.

I look back at Lachlan to see him staring up at me with wide, earnest eyes. “Lily Evans, will you do me the great honour of being my girlfriend?”

I’m very tempted to ask if he’s joking. How can Lachlan Tighe want _me_ to be his girlfriend? How is it at all possible that the first boy to ask me out (Potter doesn’t count) is the most popular, nicest, well-liked, most attractive, _smartest_ boy in school? Without consciously deciding to, I feel myself nodding and grinning like a lunatic, my heart soaring and a weird happy haze settling over my senses as Lachlan gets to his feet, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me gently.

My first.

Lachlan lurches as someone bumps into him, and when we pull apart, I see two black-haired heads making their way towards the lake.

Typical.

Just typical.

 

**JAMES**

My stomach is somewhere in my shoes, and my head is floating as a disconnected feeling takes over my senses. I can’t help it. I knock shoulders with Tighe when we pass by.

I hear a grunt as we connect, but Sirius is already propelling me towards Remus and Peter, muttering calming things in my ear. None of which I actually register.

Every molecule in my body is aching to turn around and clock Tighe on the jaw, but with Sirius’s bruising grip on my arm, that’s hardly possible.

“Let me go,” I hiss as we finally reach the picnic blanket. Remus is on his feet and glancing worriedly between me and where Tighe is, undoubtedly, shoving his tongue down Evans’s throat.

“Sit,” Sirius says firmly, shoving me to the ground. I refuse to bend my knees and end up sprawled across the blanket. Sirius shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he mutters, resuming the place he had been in before.

I push myself to sitting and my expression must be murderous, because Peter takes a hold of my shoulder. “Breathe,” he says in my ear. “You have to breathe, James.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“And what good will that do?” Remus asks earnestly. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but she was never too keen on your constant attention before. I’m sure you attacking her new boyfriend will hardly make things better.”

“He’s got a fair point,” Peter says when I growl.

“And we’ve got bigger things to worry about,” Sirius says, picking up a biscuit only to start turning it into crumbles.

“Like what?” I grind out.

“Like the fact that I’m homeless.” That gets my attention. I stop trying to get away from Remus and sit quietly. After a moment, Peter lets go and sits down, and Remus follows suite.

“Talk.”

 

**LILY**

Mary is staring at me with badly concealed excitement, but Alice is frowning slightly.

“So he just asked you to go out with him? Just like that?” she asks, for what feels like the twentieth time.

I’m starting to get annoyed. “Why is it so hard to believe that Lachlan might like me?”

Alice raises an eyebrow. “It’s not. I just think his timing’s weird, that’s all. I mean, you go out twice before school, and then since Monday – nothing. Until today, when Slughorn hands out invitations to his private little club. And you don’t think it’s weird he did it in such a public way?”

“Why can’t you just be happy for me?” I complain.

Alice sighs. “I am happy; I just think you should be careful is all.”

“You’re the oddest person. You want me to go out with James Potter, the person at this school who could be considered the most dangerous to a girl’s health, and you’re cautioning me against dating Lachlan Tighe, the school’s golden angel who does no wrong?”

“Exactly! Never trust a perfect person. At least Potter wears his flaws out in the open.”

“James Potter is _made_ of flaws,” I say contemptuously.

Alice opens her mouth to respond, but Mary digs an elbow into her side. “Would you let it drop, already? The girl’s never had a boyfriend until now, and he’s the most sought-after boy in Hogwarts. I think this calls for a little celebration!”

Alice is still glowering, but she finally lets it drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful! And sorry it’s short!  
> Timmins


	11. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:   
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!
> 
> And a quick definition:  
> **Blatching: Quidditch Foul. Flying with the intent to collide. (Applies to all players)

** Book One **

**_\- ELEVEN -_ **

 

_—i cant stop it. it just keeps growing and eating and gnawing on everything in sight including—_

 

**HESTIA**

James Potter is a prick.

Everyone knows it and, for some godforsaken reason that I will never understand, encourages it.

He’s gone too far, though. Someone has to stop him. For once.

Just…

Maybe not me?

I manage to largely avoid James for the better part a week before talking to him really becomes unavoidable.

He’s standing in front of the girls’ stair. It’s late at night on the third Thursday of the term, so we’re alone in common room. Everyone else was sensible and went to bed a long time ago.

I’m standing in the shadows of the portrait hole, so James hasn’t noticed me yet and I briefly debate just turning around and leaving, but that won’t help anything. Bugger. I hate scolding people.

I sigh and start forward and James looks up, his hazel eyes bright behind his spectacles and his arms all akimbo. One ankle is crossed over the other as he leans against the newel post. His hair is, as always, a massive, heaping mess.

 A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as our eyes meet. “I’ve been looking you, mon Capitán,” he says cheerfully, using my nickname from last year.

That’s me. Hestia Jones. Captain Jones. Jonesy. El Capo when I’m being scary. Mon Capitán when he’s being charming.

I sigh. “What do you want?”

“Quidditch tryouts.”

I quirk an eyebrow and shift the books in my arms. “What about them?”

He copies my eyebrow. “I want to sign up.”

“This couldn’t wait until morning?”

James snorts. “I’ve been trying to talk to you since I got back. You’re remarkably adept at avoiding me.”

“Well,” I say, smirking, “I’ve had a lot of practice. You can be particularly persistent when you get lonely. It’s easier to avoid you than try to talk you down.”

“I’m not _that_ bad.”

“Oh, yes you are. You’re like a dog with a bone when it comes to girls. There’s one you want, and only one. Ask Evans.” I feel a fizz of satisfaction when his eye twitches. “You’re after me for sex, but you were after her for affection. And you are _very_ hard to deter. You harassed her for a year and terrified every male in Hogwarts from ever wanting to ask her out.

“Although,” I muse deliberately, “it seems that a few months away from Evans has cured you of any obsession you once had. Now, instead of harassing her, you’re humiliating her in front of most of the Gryffindor and Slytherin sixth years.” James’s jaw flops open a bit and I’m satisfied to see a spark of panic bloom in his eyes. “Vindictive doesn’t suit you, James,” I say quietly and push past him up the stairs, calling back over my shoulder, “Tryouts are Saturday at eleven. For once in your life. Be. On. Time.”

 

**JAMES**

I must look shell-shocked when I get back to the room because Peter’s on his feet immediately and Remus, despite his post-moon sickness, is asking what happened. I just shake my head and crawl into bed, drawing the heavy velvet drapes closed around me. I cast Snape’s Muffling charm and drop my head into my hands.

“Bollocks.”

_Vindictive doesn’t suit you_.

Hestia Jones is the most terrifying witch I’ve ever met. And that includes my mum and McGonagall.

_Now, instead of harassing her, you’re humiliating her…_

That wasn’t my intention. None of anything she described was how it was meant to be. Yeah, maybe I started teasing Evans at the end of fourth to get on Snivelly’s nerves, but fifth…

She’s gorgeous. She’s brilliant. She’s smarter than anyone in our year. And she wanted nothing. To do. With me.

The one girl I thought I could actually be happy and not bored in a relationship with and she treated me like I was the plague.

I tighten my jaw. _Although not without reason_.

Maybe things got out of hand last week in Defence. Maybe Evans _has_ been avoiding me since then, but she always does that anyway. I didn’t mean to make an idiot out of her. It’s just all so pointless.

I mutter a string of curse words and fall back against my pillows, throwing an arm over my eyes to block out the light. My frames dig uncomfortably into my cheekbones and nose, but I ignore them.

This is all. So. Bloody. Pointless. There’s a war on and I’m stuck here in this _daycare_ learning things Dad’s already taught me and wasting time that I could be using to get rid of the bastard that hurt my mum.

_bubbling pulling crackling twisting popping_

I rub my forehead as though I can physically erase the visions from my brain, from where they’re burned into my eyelids. It’s not a memory. It’s a nightmare.

And it won’t leave me the hell alone.

 

The next day is bloody awful. I can’t stop watching Evans in class and trying to talk to her, but as Hestia said, practice seems to make perfect when it comes to avoiding me. Only once do I get close enough to talk to her and the, “Evans,” has barely left my mouth before she hexes me and disappears. Sirius laughs his arse off when he sees me sprouting flowers and refuses to help me pull them out.

Fittingly, Saturday dawns foggy and rainy and I grimace, knowing the Quidditch pitch will be absolute mud. Sirius and Peter wake up to come with me to breakfast, but Remus opts to sleep in.

I can barely eat, but not because I’m nervous about the trial. I’m terrified to see Jones again. Our relationship is impossible to define, but her good opinion is probably as important to me as my mum’s, and I hate the fact that I’ve lost it.

Strike that: I’ve completely demolished it.

There are about twenty or so people gathered on the pitch when 11 o’clock strikes and Hestia starts right away, sending us into the air to fly laps.

I feel that familiar lurch in my stomach as I kick off the ground, and my new Nimbus 1000 is positively humming under my fingers. I ease the broom higher into the air and start my laps, rolling my eyes at the eager freshmen whipping around at top speed. I catch the eyes of Ludo Bagman, Alecia Haines, and Darlene Bullard who were all on the team last year and I can’t help but smirk. We all know exactly how this trial will play out, and those zippy buggers will all be in for a nasty surprise when Jonesy really gets going.

I push the Nimbus a little faster so that I’m in front of my old teammates, but still going at a reasonable pace. The pitch is a mud-and-grass swirl bellow me and I’m incredibly glad I remembered to replace my goggles. The fog and rain are lowering visibility, but the goggles are charmed for the weather – my spectacles are not. Without the goggles, I’d be effectively blind.

Hestia leaves us flying in circles for ten minutes before launching into the air and starting us in her traditional warm up, one that will leave everyone broken tomorrow. I wince as I go through the motions, some of my summer injuries protesting at the damp and the exercise.

“Alright!” Hestia says finally, dropping to the ground. We all follow suite, the newbies looking like mush already. My muscles are sore and I’m sweating despite the cold air, but I feel more alive than I have since I got back. Hestia’s talking.

“I want teams. Red team beaters: Elliot and Lynwood. Chasers: O’Donnell, Kendrick, and Potter. Keeper: Bullard. On Gold, I want Stanton and Bagman for beaters, and my chasers are Haines, Smedly, and O’Beirne. Keeper is,” She chews on her lip, surveying the remaining prospects and says, “Parish. You’re playing Quidditch sans Seekers because our team already has one.” Hestia smirks and I share an exasperated smile with Bagman. “The rest of you, side of the pitch. I’ll be switching people out as we go, so pay attention. Transfigure your shirts into your team’s colour. If you can’t do _that_ , get off of my pitch.”

I snort and pull out my wand, changing my black practice robes to scarlet, watching Haines and Bagman as they change theirs to gold. I know what Hestia’s doing, pitching the four of us against each other. We’re the known entities. Starting with us on the pitch, she’ll be able to watch the others better. And by pitching us against each other, she’ll be able to observe a new side of our relationships.

I’m excited to face off against Haines. Last year, we had a friendly rivalry going to see who could score the most points over the season. I won. And I’m glad I’m with Bullard. If there were one person I would’ve wanted on my team, it’s her. Darlene can save just about anything that anyone throws her way. Trying to score on her is like trying to cheat on a N.E.W.T. exam – next to impossible. I will have to watch out for Bagman, though. Nothing compares to his aim.

El Capo blows her whistle and we all kick off, soaring up to playing height as Hestia releases the bludgers and tosses the quaffle. Haines and I go for it immediately, and I’m a hair faster than her. I hear a whoop from the stands and risk a glance to see Sirius and Peter huddled in the mist, along with a few other spectators.

Grinning, I nudge my Nimbus to a faster speed and barrel towards the far goal. Haines is on my tail and I can feel Smedly closing in, but the pressure of their presence disappears and I know someone blocked their approach. O’Beirne is heading towards me, his face almost as red as his hair from the exercise and I grin wickedly, twisting my broom into a spiral and swooping bellow him, coming back up in front of Parish.

Her eyes widen as I don’t slow, heading directly towards her and grinning evilly. She stands her ground as I get closer, closer, closer, and then she dives to the side to avoid me just as I swerve slightly left, clearing a line to the goal, and I hurl the Quaffle as hard as I can through the middle hoop.  

I can hear Sirius cackling and I grin.

“Ja-ames,” Hestia yells warningly, and I widen my eyes.

“What?” I call over to her. “That’s not illegal. It’s hardly my fault that Parish is a wimp.”

Jones narrows her eyes. “Don’t hog the quaffle, next time.”

I give her a salute. “As you wish, mon Capitán.” I see the corner of her mouth twitch and as I pass by Haines on my way back into the field, I murmur, “1-0,” and she grins.

I play nice after that. One of Bagman’s Bludgers nearly breaks my elbow and Smedly blatches me, intentionally colliding with my broom to keep me away from the Quaffle. Every bone is soon aching. But it’s nice to forget about Evans and Tighe for a bit and lose myself in something physical. Hestia switches up the players a few times until she’s seen us playing in just about every combination, and she calls a halt at about three o’clock.

We all land and gather around her in the centre of the pitch as she reviews the notes on her clipboard. “Right,” she says, not looking up. “I don’t want to hear any complaints, or I’ll report you to McGonagall for misbehaviour.” Ludo Bagman snorts. “This is the team: Bullard, Bagman, Haynes, and Potter, welcome back. My newbies are Ivers and McNeil.” Hestia finally looks up at us all as a few of the rejected prospects start to grumble under their breaths. “Thanks for coming out, and I hope to see the rest of you in the stands at our first game. The team can stay, the rest of you, hit the showers. You smell,” she says with a grin.

I lean against my broom. “You’re quite mean, you know,” I say as the rejects start to wander off.

Hestia snorts and drops her clipboard on the ground. “You know as well as I do that being scary is the only way to get them to bugger the hell off.”

I look over at the new seventh year, Reynold McNeil. “Fair warning: she swears a lot.” He just raises an eyebrow.

As the last of the stragglers go, Hestia turns to us. “Right. I’m sure you’re all aware of your positions, but to review: Bagman and McNeil, you’re my beaters. Potter, Ivers, and Haynes are my chasers, and Bullard, you’re keeper. We’ll have our first practice from five to seven on Wednesday, and I’ll post a complete training schedule in the common room at some point. Our first game will be on Saturday, November 6th and against the Slytherins, and we are _not_ starting the season on a loss. Especially not against them.” She gives us a smile then. “Rest, eat, and take a bath. You’ll be sore tomorrow!” With that, she grabs her broom and marches off to bring our practice equipment back to the Gryffindor change rooms.

“Lovely girl,” Ludo mumbles and Alecia barks a laugh.

“See you guys Wednesday, yeah?” I say, jogging off to catch up with Hestia.

I hear Reynold ask, “Are they together?” as I sling an arm over Jonesy’s shoulder, and Darlene says, “Don’t ask.”

“You know,” I say cheerfully, as we reach trunk, “I really didn’t think you’d put me on the team. You’re supposed to pissed at me.” I grunt as we lift it, one at each end. Merlin, it’s heavy.

“I _am_ pissed at you,” Hestia growls, swinging her broom onto her shoulder. “But you’re good,” she adds grudgingly. “And we need good.”

I look over at her and say quietly, “I’ve been trying to talk to her, you know.” Hestia looks up at me in surprise. “You were right – I’ve been a complete git and I owe her an apology. But she won’t let me near her.”

“And that surprises you?”

“Not really,” I admit. “But I suppose I didn’t realize how much she must’ve done it last year to be so good at it now. I only see her in class or with _Tighe_ ,” I can’t help but sneer his name, “or surrounded by her two roommates and Longbottom.”

“You might just have to brave the pack,” Hestia points out.

I grimace. “Could you do me a favour?”

She closes her eyes and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

I smile sympathetically. “Probably not. Could ask her to study with you in the library? And then leave us to talk?”

“No,” she says firmly and talks right over me when I try to protest. “Because if I do, she’ll never trust me again. I may be in the other girl’s room, but I happen to like Evans. You’ll have to find someone else to do your dirty work, my buck.”

“Fine,” I say grudgingly. We reach the changing room and push the trunk under one of the benches. I notice that Hestia is smiling a little. The room is empty right now. And she called me, “my buck,” which she never does if she’s angry…

Hestia pulls her bag out of her cubby and starts to pull off the knitted jumper and the trousers that she was wearing, now sweaty and damp from the warm up and four hours in the rain. I pull off my helmet, goggles, and pads, and then my transfigured robes. My trousers are relatively dry, so I leave them on, but toe off my mud-caked boots.

Using a towel to wipe away some of the sweat on my chest and between my shoulder blades, I glance around to ensure we really are alone. I put the towel down and walk over behind Hestia, carefully running my fingers over her shoulders, administering slight pressure where I know she carries tension.

I feel her jump slightly as our skin makes contact. “What are you doing?” she murmurs. I lean down and drop a kiss under her ear and her head tips back against my shoulder. “James…” she says quietly.

“Come over tonight.”

“James…” This time there’s more exasperation.

“You know you want to,” I point out, dropping butterfly kisses down the side of her neck to her collarbone.

“I really shouldn’t.” Not very convincing. I find her pulse point and suck gently.

And she groans, giving up. “Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	12. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- TWELVE -_ **

 

_… At this point, the group has yet to identify its self, and its true motive are still, as yet, unknown, but the Auror Office assures us that they are doing their utmost to ascertain the identities of its members and verify their intentions…_

_~ Excerpt from an article in the Daily Prophet_

 

**LILY**

This last week was bliss. Lachlan has been acting like the perfect boyfriend, carrying my books to my classes and eating meals with my friends – even Alice has warmed up to him now.

And James Potter has been easy to avoid. I can’t help seeing him every day (He’s in most of my classes.) but it’s easy to dodge him in the hallways and the common room. And Lachlan is simply amused by it all. It’s bliss not to have to constantly deal with a jealous boy dogging my every move.

Although Sev has started to hang around me a bit. He always tries to claim a desk near me in our shared classes. He hasn’t tried to talk to me, though, something for which I’m extremely grateful.

Lachlan kisses me goodbye in front of Potions on Tuesday after lunch, and I walk into the room, surprised to see the self-proclaimed “Marauders” already there and gathered around Slughorn’s desk.

Sluggy glances up when he sees me, and smiles, gesturing for me to join them. With great reluctance, I do.

“Miss Evans,” Slughorn says as I reach his desk. I stand very uncomfortably next to Black, who shifts slightly away from me. I can feel Potter’s eyes on my face but I refuse to meet his gaze. I’m still furious with him. “I’m so glad you’re early. It appears that I’ll be needing to appropriate some of your time.”

I blink. “I’m sorry?”

Slughorn smiles gently. “Mr. Black and Mr. Potter here,” He nods at the two boys, “are having some difficulty catching up in their school work and are in need of some assistance.”

“But they barely missed a week!” I protest. How could they be behind already?

“And as they attempted to catch up, they fell further behind in the current material. Anyhow, it’s good that it has been brought to my attention so early, because we still have plenty of time to remedy this situation,” Slughorn says confidently, giving a smile to his two least-favourite Gryffindors. Potter grimaces.

I frown, glancing between Potter, Lupin, and Black. Pettigrew is standing somewhere behind them. “I’m sorry Professor, but I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

Slughorn raises an eyebrow. “Well, you’re a Gryffindor prefect, aren’t you? It’s your duty to tutor struggling students when the need arises.”

I gape. “You want me to tutor them?”

“No, no, of course not. You’ll only tutor one of them. Mr. Potter.”

I snort incredulously. “You want me to tutor James Potter. I’m sorry, Professor, but you must be mad!”

Slughorn frowns at me, and then turns to the boys. “Will you excuse us for a moment? Mr. Potter, you may take your things to Miss Evans’s station. I’ll inform Miss Payne that she will be working with Mr. Pettigrew.”

The boys move off, Potter going last. I can feel him keeping his eyes fixed on me for as long as he can.

When they’re out of earshot, Slughorn turns to me, frowning. “Miss Evans—”

“You can’t make me work with Potter,” I plead, setting my hands on his desk and leaning forwards. “Please. You just can’t. You have _no idea_ what he’s like around me.”

He smiles sympathetically. “Miss Evans, you know that you’re one of my favourite students – it’s no secret! But I’m afraid that in this instance, I really must insist. You are a prefect. It’s _your job_ to help out in cases such as these.”

I frown. “It’ll only be for a few weeks?”

“No, Miss Evans. It will be until the end of this term.” My mouth flops open in horror as Slughorn continues, “Since you will be working with him to aid his understanding of the material, it simply makes the most sense to assign Potter as your partner so that you can answer any questions he may have about the material that we learn each day. It will lessen the amount of content that you will have to tutor him in on your own time.”

“Why can’t Lupin do it?” I demand.

“Because Mr. Lupin will be helping Mr. Black.”

“Get one of the Slytherin prefects to do it.”

“Miss Evans—” Slughorn begins, but I don’t notice the warning tone in his voice.

“I can’t do it, Professor. I need to keep this grade high, and if I’m partnered with Potter, I won’t be able to. He harassed me all last year to the point where I couldn’t do work in his presence. I cannot work with him!”

“I’m afraid that you must,” Slughorn snaps. “This is not a request, Miss Evans. You are being partnered with Mr. Potter, and that is final. Now take your things and go to your station so that we may begin class.”

While I’d been arguing with Slughorn, the rest of my classmates had arrived. Potter is perched miserably at my station, and Alice has already moved her things over beside Pettigrew. I can feel everyone watching me as I take my bag and walk slowly to my seat beside Potter.

He’s still watching me.

I’m sorely tempted to put my arms on my desk and burry my head in them, but I still have my pride. I will not look at him, though.

Keeping my eyes directed firmly away from my unwelcome companion, I lean down at pull out my parchment, quill, ink, and textbook as Slughorn begins to write on the blackboard.

“Evans,” Potter whispers. I ignore him, instead, copying down Slughorn’s words. “Evans.”

I grit my teeth. “You are behind in class content – that is what got us here. I suggest you stop talking and start taking notes.” Potter is still for a moment and then I sense him leaning away from me. I peek at him out of the corner of my eye and am surprised to find him following my advice.

Huh.

As Slughorn begins today’s lecture, I see a little piece of parchment slide into view: **_I’m sorry._**

I snort, flick the parchment onto the ground, and resume my notes.

Another piece of parchment: **_I really am. I know you don’t believe me, but I never meant to hurt you._**

I sweep that one onto the floor as well, only for it to also be replaced.

**_I know what you think about me, and you’re not entirely wrong. But you are the one person I would never intentionally hurt. I’m just frustrated with Hogwarts right now, and I took it out on you. It was wrong and I’m sorry._ **

I glare at the parchment and turn it over.

_You expect me to believe that you didn’t mean to embarrass me in Defence Against the Dark Arts? Everything that you’ve ever done has been to make my life miserable._

**_It’s been brought to my attention that that was the outcome of my actions, but believe me, it wasn’t the intention. I only did that to get under Snivelly’s skin._ **

**_And you don’t have to worry. I won’t ask you out again. Haven’t you noticed that I’ve stopped already?_ **

I find myself staring at those last sentences in slight shock. That has to be a lie. There’s no way all that was just to annoy Severus. And for some reason, his comment stings. I suppose that it’s never pleasant to be told you’re being used, no matter the person or the reason.

But when I glance over at him, he’s staring at Slughorn and jotting the occasional note onto the parchment in front of him. I don’t realize that I’m staring until everyone around us begins talking as Slughorn releases us to start brewing.

Potter sighs and puts down his quill before turning to me. His eyes blink owlishly behind his spectacles when he sees I’m already watching him. “What?” he asks, pulling at his hair self-consciously.

Still staring at him oddly, I shake my head. “I’m still angry with you.”

“Just help me, and you can be as angry as you want.”

I glower, but pull out my notes from the first class. “Do you have copies of these?” Potter shakes his head and I pull out my wand, muttering a quick spell to duplicate them. I hand him the second copy and flip open my textbook to today’s potion. “Alright then.”

We actually manage to produce a decent potion by the time class ends. I’m surprised when Slughorn calls for samples and Potter has yet to make any attempt at flirtation. In fact, he seems almost… depressed.

As I move to gather my things, he says, “Shouldn’t we pick a time to study?”

I frown up at him. “Why would we study?”

“Aren’t you supposed to help me catch up?”

I nearly growl. “Fine. I have two free periods after Alchemy on Wednesdays. Does that work?” Potter nods and I hurry out of the class, eager to get away from him.

 

**JAMES**

I watch as Evans practically runs from the Potions classroom. Well, at least I finally managed to apologize.

 I walk over to Hestia Jones before she can leave the classroom. She takes one look at me, and says, “No.”

I assume a hurt expression. “You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“You were going to ask me to come over tonight. The answer is _no_.”

“Why not?” I pout.

“Because I’m not doing this again this year,” she says, pushing her long, black hair out of her face and shouldering her satchel.

Hestia Jones is the exact opposite of Lily Evans. Where Evans is all fiery hair and porcelain skin, Hestia is black haired and tanned. Hestia is tall and curvy where Evans is short and somewhat flat. Hestia is a head taller than Evans, the top of her head level with my nose, whereas Evans barely clears my shoulder. Hestia is sporty, Evans is bookish. Hestia sneaks out regularly, and Evans obeys the rules to the letter.

She’s the perfect distraction from Evans because she’s nothing like her. Aside from the firecracker personality.

“Not doing what?” I ask, pulling Hestia’s satchel off her shoulder and swinging it onto my own.

“This,” Hestia says, gesturing helplessly at the air between us. “This are we or aren’t we? This secret night-time relationship that we pretend doesn’t actually exist even though everyone knows that it does. This me needing more from you than you need from me, and you pushing me away whenever anything starts to get serious only to come crawling back when the loneliness inevitably gets to be too much. It’s not happening this year. It screws with my head and I’m done with it.”

“What if _I’m_ not done with it?” I ask, keeping step with her. I scoop up her hand and bring it carefully to my lips, grazing a kiss against her knuckles.

Hestia frowns at me, but allows it. “If you’re not done with it, too bad. Go find some other girl’s heart to trifle with.”

Now it’s my turn to frown. “I don’t trifle with your heart.”

“Oh, yes you do,” Hestia laughs. “What exactly do you think happens when you consistently sleep with a girl for a year?”

“We had fun this weekend,” I point out.

“And it was a moment of weakness and should’ve never happened,” Hestia insists. She takes her satchel back and tugs her hand free. “It’s done, James. Goodbye.”

I feel some sense of desperation well up as Hestia starts to walk away, a sensation so strong that it compels me to yell, “What if you were my girlfriend?” _That_ causes Hestia _and_ most of the nearby students to stop and stare at me. I wince, feeling that this situation is a little too similar to the scene caused by Lachlan Tighe two weeks ago.

“What did you say?” Hestia breathes.

“Yeah, what?” I turn to see that Sirius is behind me, along with Remus and Peter, all of whom are staring at me like I’m certifiable.

I swallow hard and walk over to Hestia. “Go with me.”

She frowns. “Why?”

“Because I want you to.”

“No, you just don’t want me to leave.”

“No, I want _you_. We have an amazing physical connection. You’re already one of my best girl friends. Why not _be_ my girlfriend?”

Hestia pauses for a moment, staring at me, measuring something. After a moment, she breathes, “You’re serious,” in a disbelieving tone that I should probably take offence at.

I resist the urge to glower. “Yes, I’m serious.”

“Okay, then,” Hestia says so quietly that I’m sure I misheard her.

“What did you say?”

Hestia’s eyes widen. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes you did,” I say, smiling. “You said yes. No take-backs!”

Hestia raises an incredulous eyebrow. “No take-backs? How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” I grin. “And older than you.”

“By a few months,” Hestia growls.

“And yet it still counts,” I crow, grabbing her bag back and replacing my arm around her shoulders.

“You’re such a child,” Hestia says, but she’s smiling, and doesn’t move to turn away.

I grin, and press a kiss on her temple. But I can’t help the sinking sensation in my chest.

 _It’s time to let go of Evans_ , I chide. _It’s time to move on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	13. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:   
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- THIRTEEN -_ **

 

_—the flames lick inwards moving on and on and in and in and forwards towards—_

 

**JAMES**

Last year, I would have given anything to spend an afternoon with Lily Evans. To sit so close to her that I can smell her sandalwood soap, and see that her eyes have golden undertones in the afternoon light. To see the little crinkles of frustration form and deepen in the corners of her eyes as she attempts to clarify a particularly difficult concept.

When she studies, she pulls her hair into a bun on the crown of her head and sticks her wand through it. There are short hairs near her ears and at the back of her neck that aren’t long enough to reach the bun, and they fall loose and turn into curls when the air is humid.

She has a freckle right above her cupid’s bow and a little to the right, almost on the edge of her lip. And there’s a little cluster of four freckles under her left ear.

The more frustrated she gets, the heavier she breathes, but that I knew already. What I didn’t know, is that as she becomes frustrated, she takes it out on her uniform, pulling at her tie so it’s away from her neck, and pushing viscously at her sleeves to keep them away from her hands. She rolls them up above her elbows, because they keep falling back down to her wrists.

These are details that I would have killed for last year. But now…

Now, I wouldn’t mind not knowing them. Because knowing them comes at the cost of hours of verbal abuse as she berates me for not following her insipidly twisted logic.

“For the hundredth time,” Evans grinds out, “That is the Golpalott’s _first_ law, not _second!_ ”

I glower. “Well, maybe if you were a better teacher, I would better at understanding all this.”

“And maybe if you had paid attention last year _when we learnt this_ , you wouldn’t need _me_ as a teacher!” she spits back.

“And maybe if you could get a hold of your bloody emotions, we wouldn’t have been at this for so long!”

“And maybe if you would stop ogling every bloody girl who walks by and _focus on the content_ we could have finished an hour ago!” Evans practically yells.

“SHHH!” Madam Pince hisses vehemently at us from her desk. I turn to glare at the librarian and she sinks slowly back behind her book, her poisonous eyes shooting daggers at me.

I let out a ragged breath and turn back to Evans. “Maybe we should stop for now. We’ve been at this for hours, and we’re clearly not getting anywhere.”

“Yes, because _you_ can’t focus,” Evans mutters darkly, and I have to smother the urge to snap at her.

“Perhaps we’re _both_ to blame right now,” I say tightly. “We’re exhausted and frustrated and we need a break.” I start to push my books into my bag and Evans glares forcefully at me.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“To get some food,” I say as calmly as I can. “I will see you in class tomorrow.” And I stand up and walk out of the library with as much dignity as I can muster.

 

**LILY**

I watch as Potter walks stiffly away from me, my emotions seething at his damnable arrogance. My fault! Please. The train-wreck this study-session turned into is all down to _him_ , not me. Let’s see _him_ be patient with someone after hours of trying to get simple concepts through their thick skull.

I snort and pull my things together, walking out of the library with my nose somewhat in the air. The students at the tables I pass slide their gazes over me, some of them with curiosity and others with disdain or jealousy.

Unfortunately, I’m used to both.

Ever since last year when Potter decided to make me the object of his undesirable attention, I’ve been a fixture in the gossip of the Hogwarts halls. Now, they’re all wondering what I did to secure Lachlan Tighe. And what Potter will do about it. And why I’m suddenly spending a free period having a whispered argument with Potter when I usually avoid him like the plague.

Actually, I’m wondering the same. On all accounts.

Madam Pince glares at me as I pass her by and she says tightly, “If you come back here again, be quieter, or I’ll restrict your access.”

“Yes ma’am,” I murmur, and continue out into the halls, still lost in thought.

It’s not that I’m not happy about Lachlan – I am. Ecstatic, really. It’s only that ever since Alice made those comments when we first got together, they’re all I’ve been able to think about when I actually have a moment of peace.

Why me? What could he possible see in me? And how could I be worth the risk of Potter’s wrath?

The whole school knows what happens when you cross a Marauder. Severus is the poster-boy for caution when it comes to them, but he’s hardly the only victim. Potter, Black, and Pettigrew can be downright vicious when they want to be, and Lupin’s hardly a saint either. And to risk their sometimes dangerous attention willingly… I keep waiting for Lachlan to tell me that we’re done, or for someone to inform me that he’s immobilized and in the hospital wing.

And Potter…

People are saying that he asked Hestia Jones to be his girlfriend yesterday. A completely ridiculous rumour, that’s for sure. Potter doesn’t _date_. He’ll smuggle a girl into his dorm room for the night, but come daytime, she’s back in her own bed and he never gives her a second thought. The only girl that he’s actively pursued is me. Although…

There were rumours last year of a secret relationship going on between the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and her best Chaser. But that was surely all fanciful speculation to get the Gryffindors even more invested in Quidditch. After all, the brilliant Seeker and the flawless Chaser… they’d be a Quidditch couple made in heaven.

I’m still thinking things over when I hear Jones’s muffled voice coming from the Charms classroom, and a distinctly male voice answering her. Frowning, I walk over the door and ease it open a little.

Class is still in session, but there’s no charms class taught this period. Further down the hall is Professor McGonagall’s Transfiguration room, and I can hear snaps and bangs emanating from it as the first years attempt whatever exercise McGonagall has set them.

The door to the Charms room is slightly open and, after checking around to make sure no one is watching me, I ease the door open a little more and peek inside.

Hestia Jones is standing in the open part of classroom, near where Flitwick usually stands to teach.  She’s facing the long tables that stretch around the room in a tier and serve for desks. Sitting on the table at lowest level with his back to me is Potter, his book bag flung carelessly onto the row behind him. Jones is glaring at him, one hand on her hip and the other clutching her wand.

“… really should go easier on her,” Jones is saying. “She _is_ helping you, isn’t she?”

Potter snorts. “’Helping’ is a matter of opinion. I would characterize it more as ‘Yelling information at me until I get a headache’.”

“Well, that’s hardly fair.”

“You weren’t there, Jonesy. You have no idea what she’s like around me.” Potter sighs heavily and lies down on the desk, stretching out like he’s planning to take a nap, and now I can see his face. During our session, he was flushed with frustration and anger. Now he just looks wan, his pallid expression drawn and somewhat unhappy.

Jones points her wand at him. “And you have no idea what you’re like around her.”

Potter assumes a hurt expression, a hand fluttering to his chest in a caricature of feminine horror. “What I’m like around _her_? I’ll have you know that I was the perfect gentleman. I didn’t flirt, I didn’t leer, I didn’t ogle… Really, I should get an award for my restraint.”

Jones snorts mirthlessly. “Yes, because it’s not like you’re tied down and shouldn’t have been doing any of those things, regardless of the girl.”

“Not even if it was you?” Potter says quietly, sitting up again.

“I’m the only exception,” Jones smirks.

Potter chuckles and reaches out his arms. After a moment, Jones sighs and walks over to him, standing between his legs. He settles his arms around her waist and pulls her closer, covering her lips with his.

I gasp. I can’t help it. Some part of me always expected him to remain celibate in the public eye and continue his pursuit of me. And the Hogwarts gossips are _never_ right.

They’re talking again.

“Come over tonight,” Potter says, moving his head as he starts to kiss his way down the side of her neck, pushing open her collar to access her pulse point.

“I can’t,” Jones says, putting her hands on his chest and pushing him back.

Potter lifts his head and there’s an almost pleading expression in his eyes. “Please. I need you.”

Jones raises a dubious eyebrow. “I’m sure you can handle it on your own.” I feel a flush creeping up my cheeks.

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t dream when you spend the night. I need to not dream.” There’s a definite undertone of desperation in his voice.

Jones frowns, and lifts and hand to cup his cheek, raising his head a bit so she can examine his face. “You’re looking sick again. Maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing. Madam Grafton could give you something. Dreamless Sleep Potion, or Draught of Peace.”

Potter snorts. “No.”

“James-” Jones begins warningly, but he cuts her off. “If I go to Grafton she’ll ask questions that I can’t answer.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.” Potter pulls her closer, his hands starting to wander down Jones’s hips as he begins to ruck up her robes, bit by bit exposing her ankles, calves—

The Transfiguration door opens and loud first years begin to spill out into the hall.

I gasp and jerk back from the door, suddenly extraordinarily aware of my position. I’m sure my face is as red as my hair as I start off hurriedly down the corridor, wanting to get to my dorm room as quickly as possible. I feel… something. Something unpleasant, and I don’t want to be around people right now.

I just want to curl up and… cry?

 

**JAMES**

At the sound of McGonagall’s class being let out, Hestia pulls away from me. My head snaps in the direction of the door, and I think I see a flicker of orange hair, but it’s gone before I’m sure.

Hestia walks shakily away from me and stuffs her wand into her satchel before heading towards the door. “Think about the Hospital Wing,” she says firmly, before walking out of the room and leaving me alone on the table.

I growl in frustration and get somewhat uncomfortably to my feet. Usually, the baggy robes that we’re required to wear are a pain in my arse, but right now, I’m quite glad of the extra fabric.

It’s not that I haven’t thought about going to Madam Grafton for potions. Honestly, I could even ask Sirius for help.

But that would mean admitting that the nightmares are getting to me.

And if they’re getting to me, it’s because I feel guilty.

And I don’t feel guilty because I did the right thing.

I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	14. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- FOURTEEN -_ **

 

_ In Memorandum _

_The following is a list of magical persons who are either missing or deceased:_

  * _Frazier Evander Masters, 47 from Glen Lyon, Scotland – Muggle-Born – Deceased_
  * _Meredith Ithel Marven, 29 from Denbigh, Wales – Muggle-Born – Deceased_
  * _Lucie Hortense Belrose, 20 from Lisieux, France – Half-Blood – Missing_
  * _Alison Chantal Belrose, 20 from Lisieux, France – Half-Blood – Missing_
  * _Aithne Carey Slane, 35 from Ardee, Ireland – Half-Blood – Found – Deceased_
  * _Wilbur Clay Hathaway, 65 from Kettering, England – Muggle-Born – Missing_



_~ Excerpt from the Daily Prophet_

 

**SEVERUS**

I love Lily Evans. I always knew I did, but I didn’t realize how much until I lost her.

Despite my best efforts throughout the summer, she avoided me completely, preferring the company of Rory Capers. I used to be friends with him too, but these days it’s considered a bad idea to be too much in the company of muggles. So, I avoided them. It made for a lonely few months. I’d hoped that the distance might’ve helped her to forgive me, but she’s still avoiding me. Whenever I try to sit near her, Payne or McDonald are always there to get in the way. And her sodding new boyfriend is glued to her hip when we’re not in class.

At least it’s not Potter, though. If it were Potter, I really don’t think I could stand it. It being Tighe isn’t much better, but at least he’s somewhat decent when he wants to be.

A sharp elbow digs into my ribs, and I turn to glare at Mulciber. “You’re staring again,” he mutters, nodding his chin the direction of the Gryffindor table.

I grunt and return my attention to the food in front of me. My robes never fit at the beginning of the year. I’m always skinny, but for the first few months, I’m skeletal. I can’t afford to skip meals, but tonight I really don’t feel like eating.

I push my plate back, and return my attention the Gryffindors, scanning the table for the Four Imbeciles. They’re sitting somewhat in the middle of the long table, Potter and Lupin on one side, Pettigrew and Black on the other. They’re smiling and laughing at something.

I feel bile rising in my throat and a grimace twists across my features. How can they be happy at a time like this? A time when our whole world is at a tipping point and every action can have unforeseen consequences? Their apparent disengagement from the greater events of our society gets on my nerves. No one can afford to be ignorant these days.

Least of all someone like me.

 

**SIRIUS**

I feel eyes on me and look up to see Snivellus Snape staring from across the hall. I pull a face at him and he sneers before returning to his supper.

“Poxy tuss,” I grumble, and Remus gives me a disapproving look. I roll my eyes. “If you say ‘language’, I swear on Merlin’s grave…” I let the threat hang, and Remus smiles a little. He’s looking good, or at least as good as he ever is. There’s colour in his cheeks and light in his eyes. We’re mid-way between moons, which accounts for his good health and I know it will be a while before we start to see the waxing moon take effect, but I can’t help but watch for any sign that he’s going downhill. It’s just habit by now.

Remus catches me staring and mutters, “Lay off, Padfoot. I’m fine.”

“’Course you are,” I grin. “Who wouldn’t be fine with Emmeline Vance following them around like a lost puppy?”

Remus flushes and looks down at his soup. “It’s not like that. I just helped her with some homework, that’s all.”

“Oh yes,” James says sarcastically. “Of course it was _just_ homework. It’s not like she could _possibly_ want anything more from you.”

“I don’t have the emotional distance to do what you two do, and I can never have a normal relationship. So yes, it was just homework,” Remus says firmly.

Hestia Jones, who has taken to sitting with us, gives him an odd look, and opens her mouth to say something, but I interrupt her. “You can’t let a poor immune system get in the way of a real life, Moony. You deserve to live as much as the rest of us do.”

“I can’t when it interferes as much as it does,” Remus says grimly.

“He’s staring again,” Peter says quietly.

I frown and look up to see that Snape is, indeed, staring at us once more. James gives him a sarcastic little wave and I snort. “We’ll need to do something about that soon.”

Jones frowns. “That sounds like a threat, Black.”

“It is,” I say, grinning wolfishly.

She turns to James. “You wouldn’t seriously hurt him, would you? I mean, injure him.”

“There’s a difference between hurt and injure,” I smirk. “And it’s not really one we recognize.”

“It’d hardly be the first time,” Peter says, spooning soup into his mouth. James shifts uncomfortably, but doesn’t answer.

“Unbelievable,” Hestia says, shaking her head in disgust. She grabs her satchel and stalks out of the Great Hall.

“I suppose I’ll have to deal with that later,” James groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Sorry, mate,” I say, not sorry in the least. “But Snape is beginning to be more of a threat than a nuisance. I wouldn’t be surprised if he put a tracking spell on us.”

“Well, there’s not much we can do. It’s not as if we can threaten him any longer. He’ll just take the hits and come back for more.”

“Bloody sick bastard, he is.”

“We should try to think of something, though,” says Remus quietly. “Before it’s too late.”

 

**JAMES**

It only takes a week of being partnered with Evans for me to start dreading going to Potions. Our study sessions have only gotten worse, since Evans holds onto anger like a drowning sailor to a life raft. It takes hardly fifteen minutes for us to devolve into angry whispers.

The relentless battling with Evans has put me in an almost constant foul mood, and so I’m not looking forwards to Potions this afternoon in the slightest.

In class, I give Hestia a kiss as we stop by her desk and then I go back another few rows to brave the beast. She’s already sitting in her spot with her cauldron and other supplies set up on top of the desk. There’s a book in front of her and she seems thoroughly engrossed in it.

I steel myself and clear my throat. She frowns and raises her head a bit, but doesn’t look at me. “What?”

“I need to get past you.”

Glowering, she gets to her feet and gives me room to pass behind her to my stool. I pull out my parchment, quills, and ink as she resumes reading her book. I glance at the text and it appears to be some book or other on potions. “Interesting, is it?”

She raises her head again. “What?”

“Er, the book. Is it interesting?”

“Obviously, or I wouldn’t be reading it.”

“What’s it about?”

She sighs again and turns to look at me. “It’s a seventh year N.E.W.T. level potions text book, if you must know.”

“What the hell are you reading that for?” Keener much?

“Because I’ve already read ours for this year,” she says patiently. “And I highly suggest that you read it as well.”

I can feel a glare itching to form, but I force my expression to remain pleasant. But I can’t quite keep the animosity from creeping into my tone as I say, “You know, if you keep acting like a shrew, you’ll only make this whole experience worse.”

Evans gapes at me, her green eyes flashing. “A _shrew_?”

“This isn’t all my fault, you know. You’re hardly a patient teacher.”

“Maybe because we’re only supposed to be going over this year’s content. I didn’t realize I would have to re-teach you the whole fifth year curriculum!”

I roll my eyes. “Who remembers things from the year before?”

“Everyone! How the hell have you made it this far? It’s like you’re actually _trying_ to be stupid!”

I open my mouth to answer, but Slughorn comes into the room, probably saving me from saying something I would really regret.

Evans and I both seethe silently as the professor begins today’s lesson. He lectures for the entirety of the period, and as soon as he’s done, Evans is sweeping her belongings into her book bag and storming out of the dungeon.

“And a good day to you, too,” I mutter, putting away my own notes. I’m in a foul mood and not interested in conversation in the least. Before Hestia and the boys have finished putting their things away, I’m storming out of the classroom as well.

I’m supposed to go to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Spalding likes me, but she won’t be happy if I don’t show up. Skiving isn’t exactly permitted in these hallowed halls. Nevertheless, I find my feet taking me up to Gryffindor tower. I drop my class supplies on my bed and rip off my robes. In minutes, I’m wearing a mud-stained pair of muggle jeans and an old blue cable-knit crewneck. Grabbing my broom and personal practice quaffle, I hurry out to the Quidditch field, eager to blow off steam before someone comes to yell at me. And someone will. Someone always does.

As expected, the Quidditch pitch is deserted. I throw my Nimbus down and pull out my wand, pointing it at the quaffle and uttering a series of spells to turn it into a duelling dummy. The quaffle, now autonomous, shoots into the air and I mount my broom, kicking viscously off the ground.

The summer humidity is starting to fade into crisp and clear autumn temperatures, especially at playing height in the open field. As the winds whip around me, I start to feel the cold seeping through my jumper and into my bones, but I know the cold won’t last long.

The magicked quaffle follows me to playing height, spinning like a top and spitting ice-blue sparks in every direction. I hold onto my broom with my right hand, keeping my wand tight in the other and watching the quaffle carefully. It feints left and then darts forwards to my right. I let out an inarticulate yell and send a blast of sparks at it – energy that I don’t even both to shape into a spell. As soon as the quaffle collides with the magic, it’s off in another direction, circling and dodging in and out, doing its utmost to burn me with its sparking halo.

The quaffle advances quickly on me, before dropping low and attempting to come up from behind. I execute a tight turn, whipping my Nimbus around to keep the ball in my sights and manage to throw a shield up just before the ball sets the back of my broom on fire.

It swoops up and over my head, shooting down towards me, and I’m forced to drop towards the field to avoid it. The ball keeps its position above me, harrying me downwards. I twist the handle of my broom and pull up sharply, spiralling up and over the quaffle and sending a curse at it as it hurtles past.

The spell connects, sending the ball careening towards the opposite side of the pitch and I race after it, firing another hex. Stupid. The sparks explode in front of me and I fly right through them, wincing as they singe holes through my mucky clothes. The quaffle bounces off one of the goal hoops and comes straight at me again. I dodge sideways to avoid it, and send the Nimbus careening after the ball.

I lose myself in the pattern. Dodge, attack, observe, defend… The physical toll it’s taking on me has my lungs burning as I pant, gasping for air, but I don’t stop, even when the ball connects with my leg, burning a hole through my jeans and causing my skin to immediately redden and blister. The pain just fades into the ache in my chest as I gasp in oxygen and the burning in my thighs and abs from gripping the broom and keeping my balance. My left arm is tired and sore from all the spell-casting, but I still don’t stop.

Someone’s yelling at me from the ground below, but I ignore them, pushing the broom faster as I pursue the ball. It’s hurtling downwards at an alarming rate and finally, with a yell of frustration, I send a “ _Confringo!_ ” at it and it explodes in a shower of leather and blue sparks. I heave upwards on my broom handle as the ground hurtles up to meet me, and manage to avoid turning myself into a squashed stain on the grass, but I still don’t pull up fast enough. I’m too close to the ground, and my Nimbus catches on something, sending me hurtling head-first over the handle and crashing into the mud.

 

Everything hurts when I come to. Most of my body is tingling from the aftereffects of the healing spells that Madam Grafton presumably used, and my head is pounding from the inevitable headache that occurs whenever I absorb large amounts of magic in a short amount of time. I twitch my fingers and discover that they are nearly immobilized with layers of gauze.

Grimacing, I push myself to sitting and open my eyes. Someone has repaired and cleaned my glasses and already placed them on the bridge of my nose, so when I look at the foot of my bed, there is absolutely no mistaking the woman standing there.

I take one look at her stony expression and wish I were still unconscious.

“Well,” McGonagall says, her voice snapping the word out harshly. “Glad to see you’ve decided to remain amongst the living, Mr. Potter.”

“I don’t seem able to leave,” I mutter, and regret it immediately as McGonagall’s face whitens. I wince. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Than how _did_ you mean it?”

My expression is somewhere between a dry smile and a grimace. “I suppose that no matter how many times I get horribly injured, I always manage to stumble away mostly intact.”

“‘Mostly intact’ is an apt description for your current state. Concussed, broken bones, bruised ribs, your hands ripped to shreds by your splintered broom, and burns covering you from head to toe, some of which were quite serious. And your quaffle in ruins and your broom in splinters.” As she speaks, McGonagall comes around the bed until she’s standing directly beside me and towering over me. I’d said Hestia was scarier than McGonagall. I was wrong. “Tell me, Mr. Potter. What, exactly, were you doing out on that Quidditch pitch? You were _supposed_ to be in Defence Against the Dark Arts! A subject that is highly relevant in the midst of our world’s current state of upheaval.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, but I still mutter, “It’s not like Spalding’s teaching me anything.”

McGonagall raises an eyebrow. “I _beg_ your pardon?” she asks in a frigid tone.

I swallow hard. “It’s just that I’m not actually learning anything from her. Dad’s already covered all the course material with me. Just ask Spalding. She’ll tell you how easy last week’s lesson was. And I needed to get some fresh air, so yeah, I skived off class and went for a jaunt on the pitch. So what?”

“So what? You almost died! I don’t think you’re quite understanding me, Mr. Potter. If it had been anyone other than me who saw you crash on the pitch, you might not have made it to the hospital wing alive. It was sheer dumb luck that kept you from breaking your neck when you went over the handle – Madam Grafton was amazed that you didn’t puncture a lung!” Her expression softens a little and she sits on the side of my bed, an amount of genuine concern creeping into her voice. “You’ve not even been out of St. Mungo’s a month. I know they used spells and potions to expedite your healing process, but the body still needs time to do some work on its own to cement the new repairs. And,” she adds quietly, “Madam Grafton says that you’re not in the best physical condition to begin with.”

My eyes snap up to her face to find McGonagall watching me carefully, her eyes steady behind her rectangular frames. “She says you haven’t been eating or sleeping.”

“I don’t see how she can know that,” I say uncomfortably, crossing my arms. I wince at the movement. How _can_ she know that?

“Your body has markers that indicate insomnia, anaemia, and approaching anorexia. What’s going on?” McGonagall asks this last question extremely gently, as though she’s coaxing a frightened animal.

I glower. “It’s none of your concern. I don’t see how _any_ of this is any of your concern. Could you please just give me some potions so I can get out of here?”

“I’m afraid that I can’t. You have to talk to _someone_ about what’s bothering you, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall says firmly, getting to her feet. “It doesn’t have to be me, but you must speak to someone.”

She leaves me alone after that. With the distraction of her lectures gone, I start to actually feel the full effect of my injuries. A few of them I can account for, mostly the burns, and the rest I assume came from my crash-landing. After a bit, Miss Poppy, Madam Grafton’s new apprentice, comes into my curtained area with a tray and some tweezers that shimmer with magical energy. She unwraps my hands and I can see that they’re a bloody mess of skin, muscle, and wood splinters, even a bit of bone.

“This is going to hurt,” Miss Poppy says quietly, taking a light grip on my wrist and pulling my hand towards her, reaching for the first splinter with the tweezers.

I pass out after barely ten minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	15. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- FIFTEEN -_ **

 

_ In Memorandum _

_The following is a list of magical persons who are either missing or deceased:_

  * _Lucie Hortense Belrose, 20 from Lisieux, France – Muggle-Born – Missing_
  * _Alison Chantal Belrose, 20 from Lisieux, France – Half-Blood – Missing_
  * _Wilbur Clay Hathaway, 65 from Kettering, England – Muggle-Born – Missing_



_~ Excerpt from the Daily Prophet_

 

**LILY**

Potter has gone missing again. He’s not in class on Friday, and he’s nowhere to be seen in the common room or at meals on Saturday. It’s as though he really doesn’t give a toss about school in the least, which really shouldn’t surprise me.

The rumour consensus is that he’s either been kidnapped by numpties or he’s run off to fight You-Know-Who on his own. Being kidnapped by a creature as useless as numpties would be just like him… Although all numpties want is to sleep and keep warm… Maybe they thought they could make a sweater out of his hair, or something.

Personally, I think it’s the latter. Fighting You-Know-Who alone the just sort of stupid, idiotic, bone-headed decision that Potter would make.

 

**MCGONAGALL**

“I’m at a loss, Albus. Something is clearly wrong with him, but he won’t speak about it. He’s been in the Hospital Wing for two days now, and has barely said a word. I’m at the point where I’m honestly considering pouring Veritaserum down his throat and _forcing_ the truth out of him!” Albus smiles at that, and I let out an exasperated huff. “That’s perhaps an exaggeration, but I’m nearing the end of my tether.”

Albus leans his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers in front of his lips. “What is it you’re concerned about, precisely?”

“Mr. Potter sustained two types of wounds: some were crash wounds – splinters, broken bones, bruises, and so on – and the others were burns – from both magical and heat sources. He charmed a quaffle to _attack_ him, Albus. I confess, I’m concerned for his psychological well-being.”

“And it is this concern that drives you to demand he speak with someone.”

I take a steadying breath before confiding my worst fear. “I can’t help but wonder if he is, perhaps, suicidal.”

Albus’s eyebrows raise in surprise and he contemplates me for a moment, before saying, “I will go and speak with him myself today. If he won’t reveal what is troubling him, I will recommend to Madam Grafton that we admit him to St. Mungo’s for a psychiatric evaluation. Have you written to his parents?”

“I told them he had a flying accident, but I’ve been waiting to voice my concerns regarding Mr. Potter’s mental health until there was something definitive to say.”

“Very well, then. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Minerva. You do yourself a credit, with the depths of your caring for your charges.”

“It’s no more than they deserve.”

 

**JAMES**

The worst thing about the hospital wing is how the days blend together. McGonagall hasn’t allowed anyone in to see me, and Grafton and Miss Poppy keep me souped up on potions and healing spells and it’s screwing with my sense of time.

I crashed my broom on Thursday, I remember that, but I don’t know if today is Saturday or Sunday. I remember one night passing, but I can’t say for certain whether there’s been a second or not.

My hands have healed at least, which is a blessing. Someone – Remus or Peter, I’m not sure which – brought copies of Friday’s notes from the classes I’ve missed, and I’m able to while away the hours reviewing the missed content.

I sigh, and shuffle my sheaf of parchment, pulling out the notes from Defence Against the Dark Arts. A lecture on Dementors and their effects on a wizard. Bloody. Fascinating. Next, I’m sure, Spalding will be teaching us how to cast a Patronus, a spell Sirius, Peter, and I all had to master before even attempting our first Animagi transformation. Yet more repetitive class work. And why am I not surprised.

Yawning, I shuffle the pages again, pulling out the notes from Friday morning’s Transfiguration lesson. A bit more stimulating, if only because I haven’t already learned this content yet.

I hear a chuckle at the foot of my bed and look up in surprise to see that Headmaster Dumbledore has made his way soundlessly into my sheltered little corner of the Hospital Wing. The Healers have kept the curtains drawn firmly around my bed since McGonagall admitted me on Thursday – on her orders, I’m sure.

“I’ve never found it very interesting to read a transcript of lessons, wouldn’t you agree?” Dumbledore says pleasantly, taking a seat in the chair beside my bed.

I resist the urge to scowl or snap, but my words still come out sounding somewhat harsh. “Professor McGonagall wouldn’t let them release me for class on Friday, sir, so the notes are all I have to learn what I missed.”

Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. “I’m rather given to understand that you already know most of what is being taught. That is what you told Professor McGonagall, and Professor Spalding did mention that you seem proficient in your Defence Against the Dark Arts skills. However, that is the only class you are doing exceedingly well in, at this point in the year. Your other professors agree that you should be putting more effort into your schoolwork. Based on what they have seen you hand in so far, it appears that you are doing the minimum amount of work necessary for a passing grade.” I can feel the heat of a blush creeping up my neck and ears as Dumbledore peers sternly over his spectacles at me. “Would you say this is a fair description, Mr. Potter?”

“Defence Against the Dark Arts is the only relevant subject,” I mutter darkly. “In these times, anyways.”

“But Merlin forbid that these times will carry on so long as to make up the entirety of your life,” Dumbledore says gently. “You may not believe it at this moment, James, but Lord Voldemort will not always wield the power he does now. The entire might of the wizarding community is against him, and, though it may be difficult, we shall prevail in this war and bring him to justice. And when we do, you may find yourself in need of subjects such as Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms, to name but a few.”

I can’t think of anything to say to that, so I stay quiet. Dumbledore continues: “You may even find those three subjects useful in this war as well. Potions and Charms for healing, and Transfiguration for disguise. We teach you skills here. It is up to you to use them in a way that will benefit the rest of the world.”

“You expect us all to go out and save the world, sir?”

Dumbledore chuckles. “Not at all. But I’m sure you will find yourself in the position to save at least one life at some point before you die. And you may need a skill not taught in your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes in order to do it.”

I pause for a moment, trying to process all that the Headmaster has said. He is chastising me, there’s no doubt about that, but he’s being so gentle about it… It’s screwing with my already woozy head. “Sir, I don’t mean any disrespect, but why are you here talking to me?”

“A good question, Mr. Potter,” Professor Dumbledore says, his blue eyes smiling. “Professor McGonagall has been highly concerned for your well-being and asked me to speak with you. One of Minerva’s greatest assets is that she cares for the Gryffindor students as if they were all her personal responsibility. Although she may not like my saying it,” he adds with a chuckle.

My lips twitch into a semblance of a smile, and Dumbledore winks. “Do you read the Daily Prophet?” he asks suddenly. I blink and nod my head and he smiles again. “Keep an eye out for references to a mysterious organization coming to the rescue of those in need. I’m sure I can trust you with a secret, can I not?” I nod again, and his eyes start to twinkle. “They are the Order of the Phoenix. I take it that most of your discomfort with being in class is a sense of uselessness when it comes to the war we are fighting?” I nod. “Well, next year, after you’ve graduated, if you still feel like you want to help and fight, come and see me, and I will introduce you to the Order. We could use a naturally talented wizard such as yourself.

“Until then, however, you must do your absolute best in your studies. I won’t risk putting you in the field unless I’m absolutely certain you will be able to handle the situation no matter what turn it may take. Are we agreed?”

I nod again, and Dumbledore smiles. “Very well then. I will speak to Madam Grafton and see about getting you released tomorrow morning.”

“Sir,” I say as he moves to stand up. “What day is today?”

“Sunday, Mr. Potter,” the Headmaster says with a smile. “And the first of October.”

 

**LILY**

McGonagall finds me on Sunday morning and pulls me into her office to chat. She gestures for me to sit in one of the wooden, high-backed chairs in front of her desk as she sits behind it. Cautiously, I do, wondering what on earth she could want.

“I believe,” she begins, “that Professor Slughorn has asked you to assist Mr. Potter in catching up in his potions work, has he not?”

“He has, Professor,” I say slowly.

“And that this situation caused you an amount of distress.”

“We’ve hardly had the smoothest of relationships, Professor,” I say somewhat sardonically.

“Perhaps,” McGonagall says, peering at me over her spectacles, “But you are still the best fit for him in terms of teaching styles.”

I can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “I mean no disrespect, but… You can’t honestly be serious, Professor.”

“As a Hippogriff attack,” she says sternly. She regards me quietly for a moment before continuing: “Now, understand that I am saying this to you in the utmost confidence, Miss Evans. This month has not been, shall we say, _easy_ on Mr. Potter. He has had a great many difficulties to face effectively on his own, and it is my personal belief that he is floundering in his attempt to reconcile with recent events. Which is why your structure and organization could be so incredibly beneficial to him right now.

“Mr. Lupin is Mr. Potter’s friend – he is more likely to give him space and allow him to wallow in his thoughts rather than try to force him to move past whatever slump he has fallen into. In fairness, Mr. Black is going through the exact same thing as Mr. Potter, however Mr. Black’s disposition is more energetic in nature. He is not the type to dwell,” she says firmly. “While Mr. Potter enjoys worrying out the root of a problem, Mr. Black finds the simplest solution and moves on from there. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

I nod slowly. “Lupin would be too soft on Potter right now. The fact that there’s an amount of animosity between us might actually serve to snap him out of whatever slump he’s in. Or, that’s the theory at least.”

“Clever and succinct as always, Miss Evans.”

“But, Professor,” I say, “I still don’t really understand why I’m here. I did argue with Professor Slughorn over being assigned as Potter’s tutor initially, but I haven’t said anything since. And we’ve had a few sessions already. Albeit mostly disastrous ones,” I add under my breath.

“Mr. Potter finds himself in the hospital wing once again, Miss Evans,” McGonagall says tiredly. “I would appreciate it if you would assist him in catching up in all of his classes, not solely Potions.”

I grit my teeth, but say, “Of course, Professor.”

“Good,” McGonagall says, and I can see her relax a bit. I suddenly find myself wondering if she was expecting a fight on the issue.

I suppose it wouldn’t be entirely uncharacteristic…

“I believe that one of the other professors was planning on stopping in to speak with Mr. Potter at some point this afternoon. Perhaps you could visit him with a copy of all the coursework he missed?” I nod and McGonagall smiles. “Thank you, Miss Evans.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	16. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- SIXTEEN -_ **

 

_—theres a choice theres always a choice but which one do i make what can I really do except—_

 

**JAMES**

I’m surprised for two reasons when Lily Evans shows up at the hospital wing that night with a sheaf of parchment and her textbooks, walking directly towards my bed: One, I didn’t know I’m now allowed to have visitors, and two, _Lily Evans is voluntarily walking towards me_.

I watch with a certain amount of trepidation as she takes the chair Dumbledore had been sitting in a few hours earlier, pulling it closer to the bed and dumping the books and parchment on the mattress next to my legs.

“Er, hi,” I say carefully. She looks up and steadily examines my face for a moment before she notices the pile of notes from Remus-or-Peter. Without saying anything, she holds her hand out for the notes. Weirded out beyond belief, I give them to her without contest.

Evans looks over them for a moment before pulling a face. “Who wrote these? They’re terrible.”

“Wormy, then. Moony’s are usually good.”

"I hope you know how ridiculous those names are," she mutters, flipping through the pages in front of her.

“Er, what’re you doing here, Evans?”

She looks up at me just to roll her eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing, Potter? I’m helping you catch up.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“McGonagall asked me to,” she grumbles, before putting the pages down with a sigh of defeat. "These are no good. You'll need a copy of mine. And do you have someone more reliable than Pettigrew that you can get the Muggle Studies notes from? I don’t take that class, so I don’t have those notes.” She pulls out her wand and lays the two stacks of notes beside each other. Evans pauses for a second to gather her focus and then mutters a few enchantments, wiping Peter’s notes away and replacing them with a replica of hers. “And be aware,” Evans says, handing me the new copy, “that I will not under _any_ circumstances be doing this for any future class absences. If you need a copy of my notes for some reason, you’ll have to copy them by hand.”

“Evans, you need to back up. McGonagall asked you to bring me your notes?”

She sighs in frustration, a little wisp of red hair fluttering as it catches on her breath. “McGonagall asked me to tutor you in all of your subjects, instead of just in Potions.”

My lips twitch into a sarcastic little smirk. “You must be ecstatic.”

“I feel,” Evans starts stiffly, “like this will be easiest on both of us if we keep the conversation strictly on the work and both refrain from making any type of personal comment. Agreed?”

I raise an eyebrow somewhat incredulously. But I agree.

Evans wastes no time in beginning her newest tutoring duties, launching immediately into a re-cap of the Transfiguration lesson from Friday morning. I only interrupt her once, to tell her that she didn’t need to dumb down the content for _that_ class. Transfiguration and Charms have always been some of my best subjects. It’s really only Potions (and now Alchemy) that pose a problem. Evans frowns at me but stops simplifying the material. 

I’m honestly surprised when Miss Poppy comes by to remind Evans about curfew. Startled, I glance over at the large clock hanging over the Hospital Wing door to see that we’ve been working for a few hours.

"I'd normally let you stay a bit longer," Miss Poppy says, "but the Headmaster suggested that Mr. Potter spends tonight in his own bed, and we need to examine his injuries once more before he leaves."

“That’s all right,” Evans says quietly. “We were about done anyhow.” She gathers her materials into her book bag and leaves without saying another word. I watch as the door closes behind her, feeling just as weirded out as when she had arrived.

.

**LILY**

The halls are empty as my make my way back to Gryffindor Tower, but I’d expect nothing less for a Sunday evening at ten thirty. Party nights are always Friday and Saturday. No one wants to risk an admonishment from a professor first thing on Monday.

The world feels off-kilter. McGonagall practically implied that Potter is depressed, perhaps even verging on suicidal. Granted, she never said as much, but the concern in her voice… And now that I’ve actually seen him, I can’t say I disagree.

He’s thin. His hair is dull and there’s a pallor to his skin that looks entirely unhealthy. And I hate that I both notice and care.

But I suppose he is a Gryffindor. There’s a stupid sense of… shall we say, interconnectedness, that binds housemates together. I may not like him as a person, but I’ll still defend him against a mutual enemy.

And I can’t keep ignoring the fact that he’s smart.

I glower, thinking how much it would please Alice to hear that.

But unfortunately, he is. The Transfiguration lesson on Friday had been quite difficult – it’s why I’d started there. But he had treated it as though it were… Not easy. No, it hadn’t been that. But he definitely didn’t find it as difficult as I had. And I suppose there was no question that he was better than me in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Although all four of the sixth year Gryffindor boys seemed to be particularly proficient in that subject this term. Perhaps they’d actually _studied_ over the summer for once instead of faffing about like I assume they usually do.

I sigh in frustration. This is going to be a long term, there’s no doubt about that.

I’m grateful to have Lachlan in my life at the moment. I’ve always found there’s something steadying about having a boy in my immediate circle of friends. The last few years, I’ve felt increasingly unsteady as Sev drew farther and farther away, and as dearly as I love Frank Longbottom, the only one of us he really spends time with is Alice. It feels so grounding to have someone I don’t have to watch myself around. Mary can be sensitive even at the best of times, and Alice gets too focused on random details and won’t let them go. I’ve always found that boys have a simple and broad view of things. They take things at face value and approach problems with more common sense then some girls do. They’re steady and quiet. I can’t always handle the constant high energy that girls have.

I mutter the password to the Fat Lady and she swings the portrait forwards. Inside, the common room is mostly empty. I’m just debating whether or not I should try to warn the Marauders about Potter when Lupin comes down the stairs. He gives me a smile as he moves towards the fireside armchairs, a book clasped loosely at his side.

I hesitate for only a moment before moving to sit on the chesterfield next to his chair, and he blinks a little in surprise. “Just so you know,” I say, pulling out my brainstorm notes for my Alchemy essay, “Potter is being released from the Hospital Wing. He’s probably right behind me.”

Lupin raises an eyebrow. “You were with Prongs?”

I resist the urge to blush, and say defensively, “McGonagall wanted me to give him my notes from class.”

“I thought Peter already did that.”

I snort. “Those were about as useful a four-toed sloth would’ve been.”

Lupin’s mouth twitches. “Well, the sloth could at the very least be used for Transfiguration practice.”

I smile. “So perhaps less useful than the sloth,” I amend.

Lupin chuckles ruefully. “Pete means well, but he’s not always the best student. I would’ve given him my notes but I was having my own difficulties on Friday.”

I glance over at him in surprise, actually taking a moment to absorb his appearance. Lupin’s always on the verge of illness – that’s a commonly known fact. Severus always insisted he was a werewolf, but that is completely ridiculous. Any sort of crossbreed is incredibly dangerous and there’s no way that Dumbledore would allow a potentially harmful creature onto the grounds. Taking a good look at Lupin now, I notice his skin is somewhat sallow and his eyes seem a little sunken.

“I’m fine,” Lupin says, noticing my scrutiny. “Really, it happens all the time. I’m used to it by now,” he adds tiredly. “I think I’ll most likely be perpetually ill for the rest of my life.” There’s something in the way he says that last sentence, almost with a dry humour, as though it’s some inside joke I ought to understand. He must notice my confusion because he hurriedly adds, “Sorry. I forgot you’re not one of the boys. Look, thanks for the warning about James. Can I leave my book here while I tell the others?” he asks, setting the novel down on the coffee table in front of us.

I nod. “Take your time.” Lupin hurries up the stairs and I hear his dorm-room door closing just as the portrait swings open and Potter enters the common room. He raises an eyebrow at the parchment in front of me. "More homework, Evans?" he asks with a hint of a smile.

I pull a face. “We spent the last few hours on _your_ homework, Potter. I have some of my own you know.”

“Of course,” he says, a smiling honestly pulling at his lips. He opens his mouth to say something just as the other three boys patter down the stairs. Potter looks up in surprise as they halt at the foot of the staircase. “Er, hi,” he says awkwardly.

Black crosses his arms and walks over to Potter. “You’re all healed then?”

Potter nods. “I’m cleared for Quidditch.”

“Good,” Black says quietly. “Then it should be fine if I do this.” With no more warning, he draws back a fist and slams it into his friend’s jaw.

I let out an involuntary shriek and jump to my feet. “What the bloody hell, Black!” I yelp. “He just got out of the Hospital Wing, you dolt!”

Black, nursing his hand, gives me a glare before turning on his heel and storming back up the room. I hurry over to Potter, who’s cradling his jaw carefully. “Let me see,” I say, pulling his hands away from his face. Very gently, I prod the impact site and Potter winces but manages to mumble, “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I don’t,” I mutter. “But I’m still going to make sure Black didn’t just reinjure you.”

“You did rather deserve it, though,” Lupin says, coming up behind me. I give him a glare before resuming my examination. I take hold of Potter’s jaw and twist his head to the side to get a better look. To my surprise, skin is already beginning to discolour.

Pettigrew snorts. “Nice bruise.”

Potter pulls a face. “It’s all the potions and spells in my system. It's a side effect. And Evans, if you don't loosen your grip, you'll end up bruising me too.”

With a glare, I release his jaw. “You’ll be fine, I’m sure, but I’d like to spell that before it gets any worse.”

Potter just shrugs. “It’s your prerogative, Mistress Healer,” he says sardonically, following me over to the fireplace. I frown but say nothing and instead pull a chair closer to the fire. Lupin and Pettigrew watch us with unabashed interest as I push Potter into it and grab my wand. I’m suddenly self-conscious as I take hold of Potter’s jaw once more, twisting his head to get the best use of the firelight. He lets me move him without comment.

I can’t help but notice how still he is under my fingers. The skin on his chin is smooth and soft, feeling like something akin to silk. I run my fingers over the site of impact, checking for swelling, and I note the patches of roughness where he’s begun to grow facial hair. I didn’t know he shaved. He never has stubble shadows, not even when he first showed up in September. The bruise has started to spread up towards his ear, so I brush his hair back carefully to make sure it’s out of my way. It’s thick. Thicker than I’d realized. I suppose it’s really inevitable that he always looks like a hedgehog.

“Are you planning on casting a spell, Evans, or can I go to bed?” Potter’s words bring me back to the present and I feel the urge to blush again as Pettigrew sniggers. Instead, I glare. “Would you rather I rush in with the spell-work and cast it wrong?” I ask, raising my wand to his jaw.

Potter rolls his eyes but says nothing. I steady my breath and run through the list of healing spells I know before settling on the ones I want. First, I reduce the swelling with _Priximo_ and then address the bruising with _Capillaribus Sanabit_.

“Done,” I say briskly, pulling back quickly from Potter and going back to my initial seat on the chesterfield.

“Er, thanks,” he says, raising a hand to feel his jaw. There’s a moment of silence where I reach forwards and pull my notes towards me, staring at my work and trying desperately to act as though I hadn’t just fixed James Potter’s bruised jaw.

And taken the moment to run my fingers through his hair.

All right, an exaggeration, but still. I felt like cursing myself to the Forbidden Forest and back.

“Er… See you tomorrow, yeah?” Lupin snorts and I sense Potter getting to his feet but I don’t look up. I hum noncommittally in response and keep my attention fixed on the parchment in front of me. I’m glad when the three boys finally disappear back up the stairs and I can relax for the first time since McGonagall ordered me to tutor him hours (was it really only hours?!?) earlier.

Bloody Potter.

 

**JAMES**

It’s sentimental, I know. Horribly sappy and disgustingly sentimental, but I can’t get a phrase out of my head. My brain thought it up and now it’s ricocheting around like a Bludger hit full force.

_Her fingers felt like being kissed by a butterfly’s wings._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	17. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:   
> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- SEVENTEEN -_ **

 

_—bubbling pulling crackling twisting popping—_

 

**JAMES**

I gasp, launching into a sitting position, clammy sweat covering my bare chest and back. I pull my knees to my chest and rest my forehead on them, breathing heavily, trying to calm my racing heart. I squeeze my eyes shut against the dry, burning sensation and remind myself that there’s no smoke here.

My bed is not on fire and my parents and Sirius are fine.

They’re alive. We all got out.

But the shaking won’t stop and my heart won’t calm, and I can still smell the smoke and burning just as strongly as when it happened.

My stomach roils and I launch myself out of bed, nearly tripping and falling in my haste to get to our small loo. I barely make it to the toilet before my stomach heaves, emptying itself of the few contents it had – mostly the remnants of healing potions.

When I’m done retching, I lay down on the floor, letting the cold from the flagstones seep into my bones.

I vomit three more times before my stomach settles, each time throwing up less until I’m only bringing up bile on the third round. Finally, I get to my feet, grimacing at my raw and burning throat, and flush the toilet to get rid of the evidence of my nightmares.

I brush my teeth before checking the little clock beside the sink, and I groan when I notice the time. It’s five o’clock, too early in the morning for me to even attempt to go back to sleep. If I do, I won’t wake up in time class, let alone breakfast. And I’ll need breakfast now that my stomach’s empty.

I go quietly and cautiously back into our room and gather my shower things. I left my glasses by my bed in my haste to get to the toilet, so I’m fumbling blindly across the floor. There are still snores resonating from Remus’s bed, and loud fart echoes from behind Peter’s curtains. Normally, this might make me smile, but I’m still shaking from the effects of throwing up, and I barely have the strength to stumble towards my bed.

“James?” I look over at Sirius’s bed to see he’s pulled his curtains back a bit and is blinking blearily at me through the gap.

“Go back to sleep,” I whisper.

“You ‘kay?” he mumbles.

“Fine,” I say. “Just the potions. You know what they do to my stomach.”

“Mm,” he hums and lets the curtain fall back into place. He’s snoring again before I’ve even gotten back to the loo. I can’t help feeling a bit resentful towards him for being so worry-free. It’s like nothing ever bothers him unless he lets it. I wish I were that way.

I take a long, hot shower, letting the water wash the sweat from my skin and hair. My hair is matted and soaked with perspiration, so it takes a while to untangle the clumps, but when it’s finally clean, it feels amazing.

I stay in the shower for a good thirty minutes before I can finally bring myself to get out. The water and steam have helped to banish most of the lingering impressions from the nightmare, but my nostrils still burn from the phantom smell of smoke.

I dress quickly and quietly, putting on a pair of muggle jeans and an old jumper I stole from my dad, stuffing my robe into my messenger bag. I’ll do it up today so it covers my clothes. None teachers will be able to tell that I’m not wearing my uniform underneath. I feel the need for comfort today, tonight’s version of the nightmare having been worse than usual. Maybe it’s because I’m back in the dorm after a few days away, but I don’t know.

On my way out of the room, I glance at the full-moon calendar that we’ve tacked to the inside of our door. The next one’s on Friday, and I wince when I notice that the one after that is November 6th, the same day as the Gryffindor-Slytherin opening Quidditch match. Peter will have to skip the game to take care of Remus during the day, since I'm playing and Sirius is commentating again this year. Remus recovers better after a full moon if he doesn’t tax himself day of, and, of course, Remus is terrible at not stressing himself out, so it always falls to us to force him to take it easy.

As I walk through the common room and out into the hallways, my mind starts to wander back to what Dumbledore said yesterday, about needing more subjects than just Defence Against the Dark Arts.

I hate to admit it, but he has a point. I’ll need to be proficient in most subjects if I have any hope of preventing what happened to my family from happening to anyone else I care about. I start ticking subjects off in my mind, weighing their respective relevance.

By the time I’ve made it out to the Black Lake, I’ve decided that my relevant subjects are Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, and Astronomy. Maybe Alchemy, if I’m ever in a truly desperate situation. The nearly useless ones are Muggle Studies and Herbology.

I sigh and look over at the Forbidden Forest. The sun is just starting to leak light over the tree tops. It’ll be an hour or so before the sun is truly up, around 7:00 if my Astronomy calculations last class were correct.

We’re studying daybreak and its effects on the planets and visibility at the moment. I dump my bag on the grass under our usual beech tree and lie down some little ways away where the branches won’t block my view of the sky.

I must’ve fallen asleep, though, because the next time I open my eyes, the sun is up and the backs of my jeans and jumper are soaked with dew. Groaning, I check the sun’s position and am relieved to see that it can’t be later than 8:00.

I hurry back into the school, ignoring the students weaving their way to breakfast. Not feeling up to braving the crush of the Great Hall, I instead go directly to the kitchens, bumping into a few Hufflepuffs on their way out of their common room.

One of the prefects, Amos Diggory, is with them, and he frowns at me as I pass, but I ignore him. I’m not doing anything wrong, so there’s nothing he can peg me for, no matter what he thinks of me. Diggory was a seeker last year and he was royally thrashed by Jones when we played them. He’s had it out for Gryffindor Quidditch team members ever since.

Breakfast is a quiet affair for me, and I eat quickly before heading to Defence Against the Dark Arts. For once, I’m looking forwards to an easy class.

Unsurprisingly, I’m the first one there. I collapse gratefully into my usual chair in the back of the room, dropping my bag next to me, and folding my arms onto the desk to form a pillow for my head. My spectacles are digging into my nose, so I pull them off and lie down again. I fall instantly into a doze.

 

**LILY**

Ever since I woke up, I’ve been terrified to see Potter again. I can’t believe how I acted last night. I mean, yeah, healing him is no big deal, but running my fingers along his jaw and through his hair…

I shudder in embarrassment just remembering it.

I know that the first thing out of Potter’s mouth when he sees me will be a jab or an overly saccharine and flirtatious comment about it. When he’s acting like a normal and sane and _human_ human being, I forget to watch my actions and words. And it’s always come back to bite me in the arse. Why should this time be any different?

But I don’t see him on my way to the Great Hall.

And he doesn’t show up to breakfast either.  

I’m starting to wonder if he’s decided to skip classes today altogether (and if he does, I’ll rip him a new one when I see him), but when I walk into the Defence Against the Dark Arts room fifteen minutes before class starts, I’m startled to see him sleeping on one of the desks in the back corner.

He doesn’t look up when I opened the door, and he doesn’t react when I close it behind me. I hesitate a moment, debating whether to speak to him, but I decide against it and go instead to my seat near-ish the front of the class.

As I get my things out of my bag and set them on the desk in front of me, I glance back at him. Potter is sound asleep. I should probably wake him up before anyone else gets in, but for him to be exhausted enough to sleep on the desk…

I can’t help wondering how long he’s been here. And whether it’s just the effects of the healing spells, or if there’s something else causing him insomnia.

And then I remind myself that his sleeping habits are none of my business.

Before I can decide if I want to talk to him or not, other students start to arrive. Alice drops into the seat next to me just as Black, Pettigrew, and Lupin enter the room. Black takes one look at Potter and promptly shoves him off the chair. He lands on the floor with a startled yelp, followed closely by a vicious stream of expletives.

Black just laughs and takes the chair next to where Potter was sitting. Lupin and Pettigrew claim the desk ahead of them.

Potter’s still swearing darkly as Professor Spalding comes in. “Language,” she scolds blithely, striding to the front of the room. Potter glowers, but cuts his invective short.

Spalding breezes her way through attendance and then writes an incantation on the board: _Expecto Patronum_.

“Does anyone know what this is?” she asks, turning back to the class.

Lupin’s hand is the first in the air. “It’s the incantation to summon a Patronus, an extremely strong protective charm that is most effective against Dementors. It is, in fact, the only charm that can dispel one.”

Spalding nods. “Very good. Ten points, Mr. Lupin. We discussed Dementors last class, talking mostly about their origin, history, and current uses, as well as the current legal statutes surrounding their existence. Can anyone tell me why these might be necessary things to know?”

My hand beats Lupin’s by a hair. “Because you can’t know where you’re going if you don’t know where you came from.”

“Meaning…?” she prompts.

“The best way for us to understand the creatures and their nature is to understand the social boundaries surrounding them, and the current limitations that they are placed under. Not all Dark Creatures act in an inherently evil manner. There are plenty who live within the Ministry-sanctioned guidelines laid out for a peaceable existence. If we can understand exactly when or why a Dark Creature may begin to act illegally, it can help us to deal with them in the most effective manner.”

“Very good, Miss Evans. Ten points to you too.” Spalding turns back to the board and begins to write out instructions underneath the incantation, speaking as she does. “Dementors are the first creatures that we will study in depth. They are also the most advanced creatures that we will study this year. I’m teaching them first because their counter curse happens to be about par with Seventh Year spells in terms of difficulty. This way, you have all year to work on your Patronus. I expect you all to be able to produce one in an incorporeal form every time you cast the enchantment by year’s end.”

She finishes writing and turns around. “Let's move the desks, and then I want you all to read these instructions. Take a moment to gather your thoughts and think of your memories. _This_ is what the spell should look like when cast properly.

Spalding takes an even stance and a steadying breath, and then raises her wand, pointing it in front of her as she enunciates, “ _Expecto Patronum_.” Silver smoke blooms from the tip of her wand, swirling and whirling out before coalescing into the shape of a large tiger. The phantom starts to prowl around the room, stepping through the air as it examines the students closest too it.

When it passes over me, there’s a pleasant chill to the air, like a cool breeze on a hot day.

Spalding waves her wand again and the animal dissipates. “ _That_ is a corporeal Patronus. The form it takes will be unique to each of you, and the animal’s shape tends to say something about the person. It either draws its form from the overriding characteristics of a person’s personality, or from some major event in a person’s life. If you undergo a major psychological change, or some extraordinarily influential event occurs, such as falling in love or someone important dying, your Patronus’s form may change.”

She smiles and claps her hands together. “But for now,” she continues, “focus on producing as much of a Patronus as you can. I doubt any of you will manage to produce much today, but you need to start figuring out which of your memories are strong enough to eventually produce one. Get to it,” she says, clapping her hands again.

 

**JAMES**

I dozed off while Spalding was talking, so Sirius has to shakes me awake again as everyone starts to push the desks to the side. Surprised, I glance at the board to see what we’re doing today. Patronuses. So a bit of work, then.

Once the floor is clear, the other students start trying to cast the spell and Spalding weaves her way around, throwing out little tips like, “Find your memory and hold it close. If it’s still not strong enough after a few goes, try a different memory. You have to really _feel_ happy for this to work!”

Snorting, I shake my head, sitting on top of one of the discarded desks. Remus is the only one of us who hasn’t actually mastered a corporeal Patronus yet – Sirius, Peter, and I had to as a step to becoming Animagi. I lean back against the wall as Sirius starts trying to explain it to Remus, while Peter makes a spectacle of screwing up his forehead in a show of concentration. But it is just that: a show. I already know that none of us will summon our Patronuses today. It’s too risky.

Spalding gives me a rather significant look as she passes, and I groan, taking the hint and getting to my feet. I start waving my wand and muttering the incantation, thinking of nothing in particular. As expected, there’s no mist or stag.

Sirius is still helping Remus, and Peter is still making an ass of himself.

I take the time to look around, watching the other students work. Evans and Payne are giving it a genuine go, and Evans has even managed to produce a small brightness from the tip of her wand, but not strong enough to really be called mist or flames. Just a lightness in the air.

To my great annoyance, Snape seems to be doing decently. He’s consistently producing little bursts of light, his brow furrowed mightily as though he weren’t used to having to use his brain and its now causing him pain to use the atrophied muscle.

I snort at the thought and manage to produce a light flare of my own. “Very good!” Spalding says, catching sight of it. I look at Sirius and roll my eyes, and his shoulders shudder a bit with a silent laugh.

I amuse myself for the rest of the period by seeing how strong a Patronus I can muster using only memories of torturing Snivelly. I actually manage to get quite a good flame at one point, but the first person to succeed enough to garner points is Evans.

She looks utterly shocked when a jet of pale silver mist swirls out around her and stays for a moment, before finally dispelling. Spalding is so pleased she gives her thirty points instead of the customary ten.

There are no other marked successes for the rest of the period, and Spalding lets us go for lunch with instructions to keep practicing and thinking up memories to use as fuel.

Evans is deep in thought as she leaves, her teeth worrying her bottom lip and her hands clutching tightly at the strap of her bag. I wonder what she’s thinking.

 

**LILY**

My mind strayed. Damn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	18. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- EIGHTEEN -_ **

 

_… makes this the fourth such attack this month. With the new month just beginning, we can only pray that the Death Eaters don’t escalate their activities…_

_~ Excerpt from an article in the Daily Prophet_

 

**SIRIUS**

The halls are little crowded with everyone hurrying to class or lunch, but somehow, James still manages to find his way beside me and stay there, Peter and Remus falling behind us and struggling to stay close in the melee.

“So, last night…” James starts.

“Don’t.”

He rolls his eyes. “You punched me in the face, Padfoot. I think I have a right to know why.”

I make a show of sticking my nose in the air. “You know why,” I say in as snooty a tone as I can muster.

James whacks the back of my head. “Stop being a diva.”

I gasp with shock. “A diva? Me? _Never_!” That makes him chuckle for once, and I’m reminded of how rare that sound has been since the summer.

I frown at him. “Are you alright?”

He shifts his bag uncomfortably. “’Course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

I narrow my eyes at him, but just shake my head. “It’s your own bloody fault, you know,” I say, pushing the Great Hall doors open. A few Ravenclaws look over with interest and I glare at them. “Something for ya?” I ask. They all look away somewhat hurriedly.

I shake my head and stalk to the Gryffindor table, sitting down a few feet away from where Evans, Macdonald, and Payne are sitting. Tighe is with them, as well as another seventh-year. Longbottom, I think his name is. James’s eyes flick over to the group, but none of them pay us any attention. Tighe reaches for Evans’s hand, and I feel a small twist of vicious satisfaction when James’s expression sours. That girl is nothing but trouble for him. He needs to move on.

 Remus takes the seat next to me and, after a moment, James and Peter both climb over the table to take a seat on the opposite bench. MacDonald shoots a glare at us, and I pull a face at her.

“How is it my fault that you punched me?” James asks as he settles onto the bench.

“Because you were an idiot and crashed your broom.”

“I hardly did it on purpose.”

I snort. “You hardly tried to prevent it.”

“Padfoot has a point,” Peter says quietly. “What were you thinking, flying around out there on your own? And using the target spells without someone for backup? If you father ever finds out, he’ll skin you alive.”

“If your _mother_ ever finds out, she’ll give you to the vampires and then set your flammable arse on fire,” Remus points out. He takes one look at the food arrayed around us and turns a bit peaky.  This far away from the moon, and he’s already feeling the nausea? I make a mental note to force him to eat supper.

James glares at us. “So I had a momentary lapse in judgment. Hex me.”

“It’s not just that, and you know it,” Remus insists, nudging a bowl of baked beans away. “Something is wrong, James. Why won’t you tell us what it is?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

I snort again. “I’m sorry, remind me again how long it took us to deduce Remy’s little secret?” When James just looks down at the table, I smile sardonically. “Exactly. We are masters at knowing when something’s up. Now either you spill, or you’re sleeping in the common room tonight.”

“How very wifely of you,” James grumbles, reaching for the beans and toast.

I pull the toast away. “That is an insult to wives all over. And that threat is viable no matter who uses it. Now tell us, or prepare to sleep on the couch.”

James clenches his jaw and glares at me, his eyes sparking behind his lenses. “Nothing. Is. Wrong.”

Peter puts his face in his hands, and Remus groans loudly. My mouth twists. “Then it’s the couch for you,” I say, getting to my feet and stalking out of the hall, taking the toast rack with me.

“Why are you always so damn stubborn?” I hear Remus say, before he gets up and follows me out. Peter just shakes his head and hurries to catch up. James, I’m sure, only glares after us.

We end up eating the stolen toast in the stairs leading to the Astronomy tower, and I supplement my toast with a side of muggle cigarettes, much to Remus’s displeasure. We don’t say much, but I know they both agree with me. Until James fesses up about what’s wrong, we need to keep pushing. He never does well bottling things up.

He’s not like me.

 

**LILY**

“He’s staring at us,” Mary mutters, glaring up the table.

“Who is?” Lachlan asks, looking over at her.

Mary’s expression darkens into a glare, and I follow her gaze to see Lupin and Pettigrew climb onto the table and then get down on the other side.

“How hygienic,” Alice says, wrinkling her nose.

“I suppose they’re used to mud and dirt, being who they are,” Lachlan mutters, and I turn my eyes to him.

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing,” he says, smiling at me. “They’re just always in trouble, aren’t they? I suppose by now they’ve cleaned every room in the castle for detention.”

Mary snorts. “Wouldn’t surprise me.” Alice just rolls her eyes and returns to her quiet conversation with Frank.

“Hey,” Lachlan says, nudging me with his elbow. “We should do something Wednesday. You have a free period in the afternoon, right? We could spend the afternoon on the grounds before it gets too cold.”

“Can’t,” I say, reaching for the plate of ham sandwiches. “Potter and I study on Wednesdays.”

“Can’t you cancel this once?” he asks, placing his hand on my knee under the table.

I roll my eyes. “No, I can’t. It’s a prefect thing. If I cancel on him, I get in trouble. And if I get in trouble, it’ll make it less likely that I’ll be Head Girl next year.”

Lachlan frowns. “Fine. What about Thursday after class, then?”

“I’ll have to check with Potter,” I mutter.

He narrows his eyes. “Why the hell would you do that?”

I shift uncomfortably. “I’m supposed to help him with every subject now. We haven’t talked yet about if it’s fine to just do everything Wednesday, or if we need more study sessions per week. But I’ll let you know, okay?”

Lachlan’s quiet for a moment, and then he asks, “Why does Potter get priority over your time?”

“I’m sorry?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’m just saying, I’m the one you’re dating. Shouldn’t your personal life be more important than helping some no-good, soon-to-be-drop-out muscle-head?”

I give him an overly patient smile. “You’re the one who cancelled on _me_ this weekend for a Heads thing. You can’t get mad at me for saying no to a proposed date because of Prefect duties, when you cancelled a _planned_ one for the same reason. That’s entirely hypocritical.”

Lachlan scowls. “All I’m saying is, I don’t know how I feel about you making plans with some other guy. You’re spending an awful lot of time with him.”

I laugh incredulously. “I _have_ to. It’s my job. Do you really think that if I had a choice in how I spent my spare periods, I’d really choose to spend them with _James Potter_ of all people?”

“I suppose not,” Lachlan grumbles.

“Of course not,” I say firmly. “I’d rather tutor Slytherins than Potter. But unfortunately, I don’t have a choice. So, can we drop this now?”

After a moment, Lachlan shakes his head and smiles sweetly at me. “Of course. I’m sorry. I’m being an idiot.”

I let out my breath and smile back. “It’s fine. We all have our moments.”

 

**JAMES**

Since the other Marauders are pissed, I decide to sit next to Jonesy for Transfiguration, thinking that it’ll be a sight more pleasant than stony silences, but the second I sit down next to her, she rounds on me with a glare.

“What the hell?” she demands.

I stare at her, genuinely confused. “I’m sorry, what?”

“We had practice this weekend you know,” she says angrily. “And not only did you not show up because you were in the Hospital Wing, you also managed to destroy your broom _and_ set fire to the Quidditch pitch.”

“I what?” I have the inexplicable urge to laugh, but el Capo’s expression tells me that would be a very, very, _very_ bad idea.

“Your brilliant idea to use a sparking quaffle set the pitch on fire. Thank Merlin it was contained before it took down a goalpost, but you really are an _idiot_.”

“It’s not like I meant to,” I say, raising my hands defensively.

“And that’s just me being pissed as your captain,” Jones snaps. “As a girlfriend, I still haven’t decided if I’m talking to you.”

“Why- What- Gah!” I end up just bracing my head in my hands. This day is not going to plan. Not that I had a plan, but if I did, it would be nothing like this. I take a breath and turn back to Hestia. “What else are you upset about?”

“You were in the _hospital wing,_ Potter!” Jones yells, rounding on me. The other students all turn to stare at us. Thankfully, McGonagall hasn’t arrived yet. A few of the Hufflepuffs start to snigger, but I shoot them a glare. Six years at this school and people have learned I’m not someone you want to piss off. They shut up immediately.

Unfortunately, Jones notices my look and it only seems to make her angrier. “What the hell, James? Why do you always do that?!”

“Do what?”

Hestia narrows her eyes. “You don’t always have to threaten people, you know. There are other ways to get what you want.”

“But it happens so much _faster_ this way,” I reply and I’m only half joking.

“And you bullying everyone is why Evans will always prefer to kill you rather than suffer your touch,” Jones spits. Her eyes widen and we’re both quiet for a moment before she says, “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes you did.”

“Maybe I did, but it still wasn’t fair of me to say.”

“No it wasn’t.” I take my bag and stand up.

“Where are you going?”

“I think I’ll sit somewhere else. You’re clearly very angry, and this isn’t going to be a particularly productive conversation right now.”

Jones crosses her arms. “Oh, so you’re blaming this on me now?”

“I’ll talk to you after class,” I say, and start to look for an empty table. There is one empty seat.

Beside Evans.

Well.

_This_ will go over well.

But it’s still better than sitting next to Jones. She can be a jealous cow if she wants – it’s none of my business.

I take a steadying breath before crossing to the empty seat. Evans looks up with startled eyes when I slide into the chair next to her.

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“Sitting,” I reply as McGonagall sweeps into the room.

“Next to me? Voluntarily?”

“It’s the only free seat. Now shut up, would you, unless you _want_ to lose us points?” I ask sarcastically.

She sneers at me, but doesn’t get a chance to respond as McGonagall starts roll call.

 

**HESTIA**

He sits next to her all class.

I’m not a jealous girl. I like to think I’m more evolved than petty interests and self-absorbed conversation. And I am most definitely above getting pissed every time my boyfriend’s eyes wander a bit. I have to be, or I’d never stop being pissed at him.

But this…

This is deliberate. And mean.

The rational part of my brain is trying to tell me I’m being stupid, that the only other free seat was next to her, and of course he was going to move after I was so horrible to him (even though he deserved me being horrible to him; he can be a massive wanker sometimes), but unfortunately, my irrational voice is much louder, and it keeps reminding me that Potter _knows_ that the only girl in the school that could undermine my confidence and sense of security is _her_.

And that he sat next to _her_ just to get back at me for what I said.

He can be vindictive and petty and mean – Merlin knows I’ve seen him be over the last few years. In fact, James can be downright awful when he wants to be. He’s smart and observant and clever and he uses every weapon at his disposal to get back at people. All four Marauders do.

They used to watch all our classmates incessantly so that they would know exactly what it would take to break a person, how to best get under their skin, how to cause the most emotional damage. That way, they can fine-tune the severity of their attacks to each person’s imaginary crime.

And this is _my_ vulnerability, my one weak spot.

And James Potter went for the kill.

 

**JAMES**

When I try to look for Hestia after class, she’s disappeared. I can’t say I blame her. I was about as nice to her as she was to me. But she’s not one for avoiding an argument or giving a person the silent treatment.

I know she doesn’t _like_ scolding people, but she does it when she has to and she does it well. I expected her to confront me. I didn’t expect her to disappear.

Evans bumps me on her way out and she mutters an apology before practically running away. I frown at her receding form. She’s acting weirdly jumpy around me. I can’t help but wonder if she’s suddenly self-conscious about having fixed my jaw last night, or something.

But no, that’s stupid. How could that possibly be a source of embarrassment? But she _was_ quite silent after she sat back down. And she’s been sort of… _avoiding_ me all day.

I shake my head, leaving the classroom. _Hestia._ The girl I need to focus on is the one that I’m in a relationship with, Hestia Jones. Not Lily Evans.

Apparently, _never_ Lily Evans…

_No. Bad. Stop!_ I whack my forehead in an effort to shut my brain up and two passing third years jump and then hurry away, looking at me with wide eyes like I’m certifiable. Well, I suppose I do look rather insane.

I run my hands through my hair, tugging it into a mess.

“Careful, or you might rip it all out.” I turn to see Lachlan Tighe coming towards me. He smiles cordially. “Wouldn’t want you going bald, now would we?”

“Tighe,” I say carefully.

“Where’re you headed?” he asks, falling into step beside me.

“Library. I have a free period.”

“What a coincidence. I’m heading there myself.”

We walk in silence for a moment, and I can’t help watching the Head Boy out of the corner of my eye. No one is as perfect as he is. Not possible. He _has_ to have a flaw I can exploit.

_No_ , I have to remind myself, _you don’t need to_ do _anything. Evans is no longer your business. You can’t touch him, or she’ll kill you._ After a moment, I realize that Tighe is studying me just as much as I’m studying him.

When we reach the library, I go automatically to the table where Evans and I had studied last week. Taking my seat, I start to pull out the notes she left me with yesterday. May as well be productive.

I set my bag on the floor and realize that Tighe is still standing by my table. I raise an eyebrow. “Did you want to sit, or are you just going to stare at me?”

“I just want to tell you one thing,” Tighe says carefully, meeting my gaze and holding it. “Stay away from her.”

I blink. “I’m sorry?”

“Stay away from Lily.”

A startled laugh escapes me. “Are you serious?”

“As a Dementor.”

“Okay,” I say, taking a breath and trying to remind myself not to get angry, “To start with, you don’t control me. You have no right to tell me what to do. Secondly, this has nothing to do with _me_ , and everything to do with you trusting Evans. You clearly don’t trust her to be around other guys without wanting to jump their bones, even a guy who she’s hated since first year. That’s your problem, not mine. And third: even if I wanted to, I can’t ‘stay away from her’ because she has to help me with my schoolwork.” At some point in this speech, I stand up so that Tighe isn’t looming over me. We’re about the same height, so it’s easy to match him glare for glare.

Tighe glowers. “She’s my girlfriend. Of course I have a say in this.”

“No. You don’t,” I scoff. “That’s called being possessive and it’s not a good thing. And just so we’re clear, if you start threatening her in any way – and that includes being controlling – you should know that I won’t hold back.”

“Don’t get all pissy just ‘cause I've got what you couldn’t have,” he sneers.

I force my breath down, truly trying to not get angry. “In case you didn’t notice, Tighe, I _have_ a girlfriend. I’m not about to make a move on Evans while I’m with someone else.”

“Why wouldn’t you? It’s never stopped you before.”

Everything is suddenly very still. “What did you say?”

Tighe’s upper lip curls. “You’re hardly the poster-boy for fidelity, Potter. You and Black rival each other for the title of Hogwarts Slag. How many girls have you been with, exactly? Most of yours were last year at least, unlike Black. Honestly, you’re just pissed that I got Lily into bed before you did.”

I blink and then Tighe is on the floor, his nose pouring blood and sort of smooshed to the side. I look down at my hand in surprise. It’s stained red with his blood and it hurts like hell. Tighe is swearing loudly and has a hand clamped to his face. Madam Pince is on us in seconds, screaming at us and pulling Tighe to his feet. She’s yelling something at me, but my ears are full of fuzz and I can’t seem to process the words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	19. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- NINETEEN -_ **

 

_… novel way to add an extra layer of protection around your home: a new strand of dogwood tree known as the Barking Fern. This remarkable plant emits a loud snapping sound whenever it senses malicious intent, giving its owners warning and time to mount a defence. In addition, this plant can…_

_~ Excerpt from the October edition of the Quibbler._

 

**LILY**

I’m leaving Ancient Runes when a terrified third year runs up to me, as white as a sheet, and tells me that Lachlan is in the hospital wing. I feel a panicked jolt go through my stomach and I don’t even stop to think. I thrust my bag into Marlene McKinnon’s arms and take off running, arriving at the other end of the castle in record time and completely winded.

 “What happened?” I demand, rushing to Lachlan’s bedside. I scan him quickly, running my hands over his limbs to check that they’re sound. Aside from his blood-soaked shirt and tie, he seems fine.

“I’m alright,” Lachlan says, grabbing my hands to stop their roaming. “Really. My nose was broken, but Madame Grafton fixed it up in minutes. I’m perfectly fine.”

I can feel the shock and panic eking out of my body, being replaced with the inexplicable urge to cry. “You stupid idiot,” I manage. “I thought you were seriously hurt. I thought a Slytherin attacked you or something. That moron looked so scared that I was sure you had to be bleeding out or something.” Despite my struggles, a tear manages to leak out of my eye, and I swipe at it angrily. I hit Lachlan’s arm none to gently. “I hate you, you know that?”

His green eyes are soft as he smiles at me. “I’m rather fond of you too.”

I can’t help but chuckle, and I wipe my nose on my sleeve. “Merlin. I’m sure I’m far from attractive at the moment,” I mutter.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lachlan says, reaching out to tuck some loose hair behind my ear. I lean my cheek against his hand. “It’s pretty flattering, the way you sprinted over here.”

“Only because I thought you were on your deathbed. If I’d known it was only a broken nose, I wouldn’t’ve bothered,” I quip, and he smiles at me.

“What happened?” I ask quietly. “I left too quickly for that third year to say anything.”

Lachlan’s eyes darken. “You don’t want to know, Lily.”

“I do,“ I insist. “You didn’t break your nose on accident, I can tell you that much. So, who did it, and why? I want to know who it is I have to beat up,” I add dryly.

"You can't even kill a spider," he points out with a smile.

"Well, I'll take points from them then."

Lachlan hesitates and then shakes his head. “I probably shouldn’t tell you.”

“Come on,” I say, poking a finger into his ribs.

He laughs, and grabs my hand, stopping me from doing it again. Lachlan hesitates a moment more, then says quietly, “It was Potter.”

My eyes widen a little in surprise. “ _James_ Potter?" Potter has been positively saintly this year compared to his usual self. Although, granted, it's only October so he was probably just easing into it. "Why would he break your nose?”

“Lily,” Lachlan says warningly.

“Tell me.”

“No,” he says firmly. “Some things are better left alone.”

“Well,” I say, feeling anger start to bubble in my chest. “I can guess that it was petty reason. And not at all your fault. Am I right?”

“Leave it, Lily.”

"And it wouldn't be an entirely self-centred guess that it had something to do with me, given his history, right?"

Lachlan’s lack of an answer tells me all I need to know.

“Merlin, he is such an ass!” I exclaim, getting to my feet. “Why can’t he just piss off, and leave me the hell alone?”

“Hey!” Lachlan grabs my hand and pulls me back down to sitting. “Stop it. It really doesn’t matter why he punched me, all right? And he’s not worth getting angry over.”

I want to protest, but he's looking at me with this puppy-dog expression, and he _was_ just hurt, so instead, I nod, letting him pull me down against his chest so that my head is nestled under his chin. I relax a little as he winds his arms around me.

“Thank you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

We stay that way for a moment before I sit up again to look at him, saying, “But why can’t you just tell me?”

Lachlan groans. “You really aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

“It’s not that big a deal,” I say. “I just want to know what he did. Why is that so bad?”

Lachlan’s expression is guarded, and after another moment he says, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine. Just remember that you’re the one who wanted to know, all right?”

“Sure.” I say.

 

Lachlan was right. I shouldn’t’ve asked.

 

**JAMES**

I spend the night on a couch in the common room and I wake up again in a cold nightmare-induced sweat. Thankfully, I don’t feel the urge to hurl this time which I choose to think of as progress. I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that I’ve woken up with the dawn again, but at least I’m up before any of the other Gryffindors, so no one needs to know that I’ve been locked out of my room.

I take my bag and make my way down to the Quidditch pitch to shower in the Gryffindor change room, and grab the extra set of robes I always keep on spare in my cubby. Breakfast has started by the time I’m put together, so I make my way to the Great Hall, already dreading the day to come.

 

As promised, my day is hell. The other Marauders keep me at arm’s length all day, I don't even see Hestia, she's so adept at avoiding me, and Evans won’t look at me during Potions. She is so stiff and cold when I sit next to her that I can’t even bring myself to attempt to talk to her and find out what's pissed her off.

I'm so distracted in class that the potion bubbles over disastrously, ruining not only Evans's potion as well, but also disintegrating the sleeves of my robes and half of Evans notes. Slughorn makes me stay behind for an extra hour to clean it all up, and it feels like hell after the double period of stony silence Evans just gave me. As soon as he lets me go, I head directly to Gryffindor Tower, hoping to avoid having to deal with anyone else, but when I walk into the common room, Hestia is waiting for me by the fire.

In that particular moment, all I really want to do is go up to my room before Sirius can lock me out, fall into bed, and sleep for a week. But that’s obviously not going to happen. Still, I can’t help asking a little hopefully, “I’m going to guess that this conversation can’t wait a little longer?” Hestia’s expression tells me all I need to know. A few of the other Gryffindors working in the Common Room are starting to watch us with interest, so I sigh and jerk my head towards the boys’ stair. “Let’s go somewhere without an audience, at least.”

El Capo glowers, but follows me up to my dorm room without argument. I make sure the door is shut firmly behind us, and that the litany of spells that the boys and I have layered around the room to prevent eavesdroppers are in full effect.

As I shrug off my ruined robes and discard my tie, Jones crosses over to the window, pacing agitatedly, her expression furious.

"Well, don't you look cheerful," I say dryly, taking a seat on the end of my bed, rubbing at my shoulders a little. The muscles feel like rocks under my fingertips from the stress of the day. I wince when I find a knot.

Her head snaps in my direction and she narrows her eyes. "Not. Funny."

I raise an eyebrow. "Just trying to diffuse the tension."

"Poorly."

"Apparently." Jones continues to watch me in stony silence, but I just lean back against the door and cross my arms. She's the one having a hissy fit over something. It's her job to speak.

After a few minutes of a staring contest, she finally says, ""Well?"

"Well, what?" I ask, sorely tempted to roll my eyes. I give up on my shoulders, and lean back on my hands.

"Are you going to explain yourself, or not?"

This time, I do roll my eyes. "Well, gee, Hestia. It might be a bit easier to 'explain myself' if you'd tell me what you're pissed about. Because aside from a few vague comments yesterday in class, you haven't given me much to go on. I'm not a bloody Legilimens."

"Well, let's see," she says, and starts pacing again, "would you like to start with why you nearly killed yourself on the Quidditch pitch? Or why Evans was with you in the Hospital wing? Or maybe you'd care to tell me why, exactly, September Hines told me that you tried to stab Lachlan Tighe in the library yesterday with a muggle knife that Sirius Black gave to you?"

I nearly snort. "Hines told you that, didn't she?"

"Yes, so it's obviously not the least bit true. But what is true is that you and Tighe went to the library and you put him in the hospital wing."

"Yeah, well, I punched him in the nose. I broke it. No knives involved.”

“And…?”

 “I think I’ll need a bit more of a hint than that.”

 Hestia's lip curls. “Why did you hit him? What happened after you did? Was that why I didn’t see you at all last night after Transfiguration?”

I lean forwards, bracing my elbows on my knees as I study the flagstones between my feet. "I didn’t know that I’d hit Tighe until after I already had, and when I hit him, Pince dragged him to the Hospital Wing, and sent me to McGonagall. You didn’t see me around because McGonagall kept me in her office until she and Dumbledore decided on a punishment.” I look back at her and find that she's gone still again, just watching me with her fathomless dark eyes and her mouth downturned at the corners.

 “I’m banned from studying in the library for the rest of term, and I've got to spend the weekend re-shelving books by hand. I also lost us a massive amount of points. But at least I’m not suspended,” I add in a sarcastically optimistic tone at the end.

“And I'm sure the reason you hit him is something noble, and not in the least bit petty. Right?”

My stomach twists a little guilty, and I can’t keep looking at her, so I flop backwards onto the bed. “I didn’t know I had hit him. It’s funny," I add, lifting my hand to study my knuckles, the skin on them broken from colliding with Tighe's boney face, "I didn’t really think people could block out their own actions until it happened yesterday.”

“Why did you hit him, James?” Her voice is low and dangerous, and sounds frighteningly like my mother's when she's pissed.

"He said he slept with Evans." When Jones doesn't respond immediately, I lift myself onto my elbows so I can see her.

In that moment, Jones looks like she might laugh. "Oh yes, Merlin forbid he sleep with his girlfriend."

I glower. "I didn't punch him because he slept with her," I say, even though I did. "I punched him because of the way he said it."

"Sorry, but I don't think you can hospitalize someone just because they're a smarmy bastard and like to rub sex in your face," she says, glaring right back.

"Would you stop saying I hospitalized him? You make it sound like I nearly killed him. He was in the Hospital Wing for all of fifteen minutes, I'm sure."

"And you can bet that his girlfriend, who he has every right to sleep with, was right by his side."

"Why the hell do you have such a problem with this?" I demand, standing up and stalking towards her. "It's not like my punching Tighe threatens you anyhow."

"No," Hestia agrees, her face flushing as her temper rises, "You punching Tighe doesn't threaten me. But you punching Tighe because of Evans _does_. Because all it does is prove to me that you are still in love with her!"

The accusation feels a bit like a punch to the gut. "I am _not_ in love with her," I say angrily, but Hestia only rolls her eyes.

“I’m not stupid, you know," she says, her voice rising. "I can put two and two together. You asked me out this year _after_ Evans finally got a boyfriend. You usually seek me out _after_ Evans has pissed you off. I didn’t see you at all yesterday because you broke _Evans’s boyfriend’s_ nose after he made a comment about having popped her cherry. And I'm willing to bet that you winding up in the Hospital Wing last Thursday had something to do with her too!”

"What, now you think I'm sleeping with Evans or something? 'Cause yesterday, you seemed to think the only way that would ever happen is if I raped her." Hestia at least has the grace to look down. "You're not the only one with reasons be pissed off, you know."

"You know I didn't mean that," she says quietly.

"Sure. It was just the jealousy talking."

"I am _not_ jealous," Jones snaps, her head whipping up, her eyes blazing.

I smile darkly. "No? 'Cause you're giving off a fair impression."

"I am not jealous of Evans," she spits, getting to her feet and advancing on me. "Why would I be jealous of a pimple-faced prude with a wand stuck so far up her ass she'd need surgery to remove it?"

Now it’s my turn to glower. “Careful, Jones, your scales are showing."

"You had best watch yourself, Potter," she says dangerously, jabbing a finger into my chest. "You are treading on very thin ice here."

"What, you can accuse me of accosting girls, but I can't point out when you're acting like a possessive little--"

Her eyes flash. "Possessive little what, Potter?"

"Well, you're being a bit of a bitch, aren't you?"

Her eyebrows fly up, and her expression settles into something like surprised fury. "Oh, I'm being a bitch, am I? Well if I'm a bitch, then you're a bigoted, chauvinistic, bullying, misogynist asswipe of a wizard who couldn't find his own rear-end with map and a locating spell!"

"Yeah, well you slept with me, so what does that make you?" I yell, and her hand comes up to connect solidly with my cheek, turning my head a little with the force of it. 

There's a moment where we just stand nose to nose, breathing heavily and glaring at each other, and then my hands are moving, one grabbing her waist and the other fisting into the hair at the nape of Hestia's neck, pulling her tight against me as our lips meet in a searing kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!   
> Timmins


	20. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- TWENTY -_ **

 

_ Visalia Ezekias’s Potency Potion for Intimate Occasions _

_Visalia Ezekias is one of the leading experts on pregnancy and fertility in the Wizarding World. This new and revolutionary sterility potion for males was developed by him personally, and guarantees not only the safety of its users, but also that any children brought into our magical world will be wanted, loved, and cared for. Ezekias is here to ensure that you can have that intimate moment with your significant other without the unwanted burden of a potential pregnancy..._

 

**JAMES**

My cheek stings horribly, and the skin on Hestia’s palm is already beginning to redden. I stand there for a moment, my mouth hanging open a little, incredulous that she struck me. In fact, she looks a little incredulous herself. Her eyes are wide and feverish and there's this moment of stillness before everything is moving at once.

I don't know who reaches for who, but at all once, one of my hands is in her hair, and my fingertips are digging into her waist. Her hands twist into my jumper to pull me against her, and her mouth meets mine, all fire and heat and heady, heady passion.

I push harder against her, pinning Hestia as her fingers drag through my hair, and she deepens the kiss. My specks are getting in the way, and she pulls them off. I shiver as her fingers scrape over my scalp, threading into my hair and tugging and pulling. I grunt when she pulls a little too hard, and grab her hands, pinning them to the bedpost over her head with one hand as my mouth starts to move down her neck.

Things are escalating very quickly and my mind is wonderfully, gloriously blank. All I can think about is Hestia’s body pressed against me, and how damn good it feels when she moans in response to what I’m doing.

Jones tugs her hands free, running them over my chest, and I fasten my lips onto her neck and suck. I feel her weight change a little as her knees go weak, and I smile against her neck.

Her hands are fumbling at the buttons of my shirt, and I move back to her mouth, deftly removing her robes and tie. I’m desperate for skin to skin contact, so I push the first few buttons open on her shirt, before pulling away from her long enough to yank it off over her head.  My hand goes straight to the clasp of her bra, opening it in one try. Jones’s fingers are still fumbling with my buttons, and she gives up, tearing it open in one swift movement.

I pull back a moment in surprise as the buttons scatter, but then her fingers brush across the tented front of my trousers and I crush her against me, even more desperately than before.

I shuck off my ruined shirt, and Jones takes care of the rest of our clothes, and we're moving onto my bed. I fumble around in my bedside table for an anti-pregnancy potion, downing the sickly-sweet liquid in one gulp, as Jones watches me anxiously, just as eager as I am to move on to the main event.

 

"Well," Hestia says, lying next to me in the tangle of bedsheets, and a little out of breath. "I can't say that was entirely expected."

I grin, and turn my head to look at her. "What, you never thought hitting me would lead to the best sex of your life?"

"Well, I don't know about the _best_ sex," she says, but her tone is teasing, and because she's so close, I can see the smirk playing around the corners of her mouth. I lean over and press a kiss to her lips, meaning it to be short and sweet, but she presses closer to me, leaning in, and it takes everything in me to break away.

"We should talk," I say quietly, and Hestia frowns. "You know, actually talk, not just scream at each other."

"Right," she says, and pushes herself to sitting, pulling my sheet with her to cover herself.

I drag my quilt up over my hips and sit up as well, leaning back on my hands. "Do you know where my specs landed?" I ask, looking around the room as though I might be able to actually see them.

Hestia gets up and crosses over to Remus's bed, picking them up from the floor and tossing them to me. They land on the coverlet, and I quickly put them on. Hestia wraps the sheet more firmly around herself and perches on the foot of Remus's bed.

"So," I say.

"So."

"I'm not in love with Evans."

"We'll agree to disagree on that," she scoffs.

"I don't love her," I insist. "In fact, I'm not too pleased with her at all most days."

"Doesn't mean you don't love her," Hestia insists quietly. "You are incapable of letting her go."

"What exactly are you basing this assumption on?"

Hestia rolls her eyes. "Well let's see. She's first for everything: first claim on your time, your first choice for a girlfriend, your eyes go to her first when you enter a room, she's the one you had visit you in the Hospital Wing—"

"Wait, what?" I sit up a little straighter, and Hestia looks down at the floor.

"When you were in the Hospital Wing on the weekend. She was your only visitor."

"She wasn't exactly a visitor. She was bringing me class notes," I say, and Hestia gives sceptical look.

" _Peter_ brought you class notes," she points out.

"Yes, useless ones," I say, and she smiles a little. I take a breath. "I'm behind in most of my classwork. Evans had already been assigned by Slughorn to help with Potions, so McGonagall asked her to help me with the rest of my classes too. She brought me better notes from the classes I missed and started going over some homework, and that's all." Jones nods, but doesn't say anything. "Why this fixation with Evans?"

After a minute, Hestia says, "I don’t like feeling like the consolation prize." When she sees my look of confusion, she continues, "I’ve never come first for you, and I used to be okay with that.” She shakes her head, and gets up to collect her pants and my shirt, pulling them both on. "That’s been the balance in our relationship for the past _year_ and I can’t keep doing it. I can’t keep waiting for Evans to snap her fingers, because I know that the moment she does, you’ll go running to her like a loyal lap dog. And you won’t give _me_ a second thought."

Jones picks up my shorts and tosses them to me. I slide them on as she continues speaking. “I’m the placeholder for Evans. I always have been. But this is our sixth year, James.” Hestia’s dark eyes are wide and earnest. “We grew up in the wizarding world. She didn’t. You and I know that as soon as Hogwarts is done, life starts to happen _really_ bloody fast. There aren’t really any easy ways to meet blokes after school is done. Couples usually meet here. Then they date till Hogwarts is over, get married in one or two years and start popping out ankle-biters. And I don’t want to get left behind.”

“So, what?” I ask. It’s hard because I know she’s right. “I’m probably not even going to _start_ thinking about serious, life-long relationships until after Hogwarts at the very _least_.”

“You have the advantage of a good family, James. You’re pure down to your last blood-cell and have a fortune packed away in Gringotts. Me? I’m a half-blood from a middle-income, blue-collar family. I’ll probably go into some menial Ministry job after Hogwarts, where the only new people I’ll meet are in their forties or fifties and have been working there since _they_ graduated. You’ll be introduced to eligible girls from Beauxbaton or Durmstrang, or even Ilvermorny. You’ll have the opportunity to meet someone. I won’t.”

“So, you want me to commit to marrying you? I know some of the other purebloods are already breaking out the promise rings, but my parents are far from traditionalist, and they raised me to think that way too. Promise rings aren’t something I have any interest in.”

“I’m not looking for a proposal, James,” Hestia says tiredly, rubbing a hand across her forehead, and coming to sit down next to me. “Merlin knows we’ve only been officially _dating_ for two weeks. But we’ve basically been in an open relationship for more than a year now. So, I am looking for _some_ commitment. Stability. Assurance. Whatever you want to call it." She shakes her head. "I need to know that I’m not going to wake up one day and find that I’ve been traded in for a newer model without so much as a goodbye.”

"And what would that commitment look like?”

Jones shrugs. “Right now, our relationship is exactly the same as it’s always been, except that you now call me your girlfriend instead of just your Quidditch captain. It might be nice to actually _feel_ like I was your girlfriend, and not just a mate with benefits.”

“So, what? I walk you to class, kiss you hello every day, never leave your side?” I wince when there’s some unintended sarcasm.

Hestia frowns, picking up on it. “No, James. Just maybe put me first once in a while.”

“I _do_ put you first.”

“Above who?” she asks incredulously. “I come after your roommates and Evans. Those five people are really the only others in your life who make demands on your time. So, what? I come first over strangers? That’s flattering, James. Really. It is.”

I have to fight not to get snippy. “I don’t put Evans over you.”

“Any free period you have, you spend ‘studying’ with her.”

“I _am_ studying with her! I’m behind on class material, and she’s helping me catch up! And before you start on why it’s _her_ helping me,” I add, “she was assigned by McGonagall and Slughorn because she’s the prefect in our year.”

“All I’m trying to say is, it would be nice to feel wanted once in a while.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. “That I think I can do.”

 

It's a while before Hestia or I feel like leaving the comfort of my bed, but eventually my stomach reminds me that I skipped dinner, growling loudly enough to make Hestia laugh.

"I'm sure the kitchens are open," she says, still chuckling. "And I could eat too."

There are a few smirks from our fellow Gryffindors when we come downstairs, but Remus, Peter, and Sirius, all of whom are settled into chairs by the fire, ignore us. I know I should talk to them, that I'll have to tell them something eventually, but I can only handle one massive fight per day.

I let Jonesy lead the way down to the kitchens where the house elves are more than happy to feed us. It feels ridiculously nice to just sit in the warm kitchen with my girlfriend, being waited on by happy and cheerful elves, and eat as much comfort food as I can.

Right now, I'm not worrying about schoolwork, or getting angry over Evans. I'm not thinking about the sorry state of the world, or making myself sick wondering if Death Eaters will attack my parents again, this time when I can't protect them. There aren't monsters in the shadows, and nightmares in my mind. For one blissful moment, I'm just a Hogwarts student who skipped dinner, and everything is perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	21. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- TWENTY-ONE -_ **

 

_… aggressive behaviour of any sort will not be tolerated. As of now, any violent actions towards another student will result in severe punishment…_

_~ Excerpt from a notice posted in every Hogwarts common room_

 

**LILY**

I couldn’t study after class on Monday, because I was too upset after my conversation with Lachlan.

I couldn’t study Tuesday night because I had to redo all the work that was ruined by the cauldron exploding.

Who was the cause of both those disruptions? James Potter.

After Lachlan explained why Potter broke his nose, I was angry. After Potter ruined all my work, I was furious. And that fury seems determined to stick around for as long as possible. I managed avoid him all day on Wednesday, but Thursday doesn’t go quite as well as I’d have liked.

My morning starts with Herbology (where I stand as far away from him as possible), and I make Lachlan eat lunch with me in the library because I don’t want to have to be around Potter any more than necessary.

Which, unfortunately, translates to: all afternoon.

Because we have Potions and Defence after lunch.

Yippee.

Unfortunately, I arrive to potions first, which means I have to move when Potter swans in a minute before class starts along with the other Marauders. Alice and I share an annoyed look across the classroom. Hestia Jones arrives with them as well and Potter pauses to kiss her (quite thoroughly, I might add) before coming over to our station. I can’t quite help an annoyed _hmpf_ as I move to let him pass.

Slughorn gives the five of them an irate look before finally starting the day’s lecture on the Babbling Beverage and its common uses.

I try to pay attention to the lecture. Really, I do. Nevertheless, as class progresses, I find myself getting more and more agitated by the stupid little things he does. The way periodically runs his hair to make it stand up, and how he chews on the feathered end of his quill.

I’m as stiff as a board and clutching my quill so tightly that I’m surprised it doesn’t snap. About half way through the lecture, my leg starts to bounce. There’s a dull ache growing at the back of my skull as a tension headache starts to form, but Potter doesn’t even act like he notices my annoyance. He just patiently unrolls more parchment and takes notes, seeming for all the world to be paying attention to the lecture.

Until I actually glance over at what he’s written and see that its notes on Quidditch manoeuvres.

Figures.

He’s not even going to try in class, meaning I’ll have to spend even more of my time being forced to help him with homework.

I’ve worked myself up into a complete state by the time Slughorn finishes lecturing. He gives us the last half hour of class to discuss the potion of the day.

Potter flips through his textbook, looking for the pages on the Babbling Beverage. “Stop staring at me,” he says out of the corner of his mouth.

I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

“Yes,” he snaps, finally looking in my direction. “ _Stop staring at me_.”

My upper lip curls. “That’s all? Nothing about what happened on Monday in the library?”

Something flashes through Potter’s eyes, but it’s gone before I can identify it. “I won’t apologize for punching the git. He deserved it.”

I gape at him. “How exactly did he deserve it? You started the whole thing!”

Potter’s eyes narrow behind his spectacles. “Oh, I did, did I? And how exactly did I ‘start it’?”

“By calling me a _you-know-what_ ,” I spit. “You know, I always thought you had morals. Thought you were a pox-ridden troll and a piss-ant, but you still, at the very least, had morals. Wasn’t it only last June when you swore you’d never use that word? And yet here we are, barely four months later and you’ve already turned into a hypocrite.”

The more I speak, the whiter Potter’s face gets, his mouth pinching into a thin, tight line, and his nostrils flaring. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him white with anger before. Flushed, yes. Trembling, sure. But pale and still? This is a first.

“Back up,” Potter grinds out. “Tighe told you _what_?”

“He told me what you said. That, when he asked if it would be alright if he joined us for a few study sessions, you told him you couldn’t give a toss, and were wondering if he ever felt as horrible as you did after spending extend amounts of time in the company of a ‘filthy little Mudblood’ like me.”

Potter is silent for a full minute, still as a statue. “And you believed him.”

“Well, as you pointed out yourself, the only reason you ever pursued me was to get under Severus’s skin. You never had any intention of actually following through on a relationship. I _am_ curious as to whether Jones means anything to you. She is a half-blood after all. Is she clean enough for your pureblood ideals, or is there too much mud in her as well?”

Potter is saved from having to give an answer by the ending of class. I sneer at him and sweep everything into my bag. “I’ll be at the usual table tomorrow if you think you can bare being in my company long enough to get through the mandatory study session,” I hiss, and stalk out of the classroom.

 

Lachlan looks up as I enter the Prefects Study, a glower clouding my expression.

“Bad day?” he asks as I collapse onto the chesterfield next to him, huffing loudly.

“Potter is such a prick,” I growl, my eyes flashing.

Lachlan smirks and raises an eyebrow. “And that’s new?”

I frown lightly, and can’t help but feel the tiniest bit annoyed by Lachlan’s self-satisfaction. “He’s always been a bastard, but this is a new level of horrible, even for him.”

“What do you mean?”

I sigh, and rake a hand through my hair, pulling the long strands away from my face. “He’s never called me a you-know-what before.” I frown. “Actually, he always got mad whenever anyone else used that word.”

“It had to be a front,” Lachlan says smoothly, placing a comforting arm around my shoulders. “He’s a pureblood, Lily. You know what they’re like. They look down on anyone of lesser status. They always have and always will.” I glance at him doubtfully, and he shrugs. “He probably just hid it before because he was trying to get into your pants. It was most likely all an act.”

“Maybe.” But I’m still troubled by it all, and I must not sound very convincing, because Lachlan’s expression becomes briefly annoyed before it morphs back into something more pleasant.

“Hey,” he says gently, placing his fingers under my chin and firmly turning my face towards him. “He’s not worth your worry. Just forget about him, alright? I’m here. And I’m _much_ nicer than he is.” He smirks, nudging my nose with a little with his, clearly asking for a kiss. I soften a little and comply, my hand coming up to his jaw, as he pulls me forwards to press his lips against mine.

He’s trying to distract me, and I’m glad of it. I will it to work, wishing I could just lose myself in the sensation of being close to him.

But it _doesn’t_ work.

My brain is still whirring, trying to reconcile Potter’s actions with what I’ve observed about him over the years, but something isn’t fitting quite right. Clearly, I don’t know him as well as I think I do. I’m missing something – some motive of Potter’s that I can’t quite fathom.

“I’m sorry,” I say, putting a hand on Lachlan’s chest and pushing him back a little. “I’m a bit too distracted right now for this. Is it alright if we just study?”

He smiles comfortingly. “Of course,” he says, and withdraws his arm from my shoulders without further comment.

I flip open my charms book and pull out a roll of parchment, taking notes on the things I know Potter has been struggling with so I have a plan of what to go over if he shows up tomorrow. The less time I have to spend with him the better, and taking a moment to formulate a lesson plan will make everything much smoother.

“You know, if you’re having that much trouble with Cheering Charms, I could always help you.”

I look over at Lachlan to see that he’s reading the notes I’ve just scribbled.

I smile and shake my head. “Thanks, but I’m not the one having trouble.”

“Mary?” he asks.

I shake my head again, and my mouth twists sourly.  “Potter.”

Lachlan sits back and frowns. “You’re not still going to tutor him, are you?”

“He still needs help,” I say, shifting uncomfortably. “Believe me, I don’t want to be doing this, but until McGonagall tells me he’s caught up, I have to.”

“You need to talk to her. Ask her to switch his tutor. Lupin can take over, can’t he?”

I frown. “Technically, yes. But you know how I feel about seeing things through. And I don’t want McGonagall thinking I can’t handle this. It’s not that big a time commitment – Only a few hours a week. If I get selected as Head Girl, I’ll have much more responsibility than just tutoring one annoying student.”

Lachlan’s expression is clouded and troubled. “I don’t know how I feel about this.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How _you_ feel about this?”

“You’re my girlfriend, Lily,” he says reasonably. “I worry about you. And I don’t think it’s safe for you to tutor him.”

“Not _safe_?”

Lachlan gives me a patient smile. “He called you a mudblood, Lily,” he says very clearly and calmly. “And he attacked me at the slightest provocation. I don’t trust him to be reasonable. I don’t want you to continue tutoring him.”

“It’s not really your call,” I point out.

“I’m your boyfriend. I’m allowed to be concerned about your safety. And I constitute this as a risk. How would you feel if I was hanging out with someone dangerous?”

I frown. “Well, I’d be worried, of course, but—”

“Exactly. I’m worried, the same way you would be. So, talk to McGonagall, please, and have Lupin take over the tutoring.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then I say, “I’ll think about it,” and go back to taking notes.

We work quietly for a while more, and then I start to pack up my things. “I’ve got go. But I’ll see you at supper, yeah?”

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“I’m going to find Alice. We have Transfiguration stuff to work on.”

“And you’re going to be working where?”

I frown. “Does it matter?”

“I just want to make sure you’ll be safe,” he says quietly. “Potter isn’t the only dangerous one here, much as I’m loathe to admit it.”

I hesitate, and then wonder why I do. “We usually work in the library.”

Lachlan frowns. “I’d feel better if you stayed in Gryffindor Tower.”

“But it’s too noisy in the common room,” I point out.

“Please, Lily. For me.” It’s phrased as a request, but it doesn’t really feel that way.

I hesitate again. “Look, I’ll see you at supper,” I say, not giving him an answer.

Annoyance flashes through Lachlan’s eyes again, but he smiles pleasantly, and murmurs, “Of course,” before giving me a quick kiss and helping me slide my bag onto my shoulder.

I leave the Prefects Study feeling more unsettled than before, both about Potter, and now Lachlan’s over-protective concerns for my well-being.

 

**JAMES**

“That’s it. I’ve heard enough. I’m killing him.”

“No, Padfoot,” Remus says impatiently. “You can’t kill him.”

“Why not? He’s a sorry, sodding bastard and no one will miss him. We kill him tonight and then dump his body in the Black Lake. The squid will eat his corpse as a snack and no one will be the wiser!”

Remus rolls his eyes. “He’s the _Head Boy_ , Pads, not to mention Evans’s boyfriend. He _will_ be missed.”

“But they won’t find the body,” Sirius insists. “No one will be able to _prove_ he died or that we did him in.”

“We’d be the most likely candidates,” Remus reasons. “After all, Prongs has the most to gain from that bastard’s demise. We can’t kill him. But I do agree that something must be done.”

“Why?” I snap, and Sirius and Remus stop talking.

“Are you kidding?” Sirius asks, staring at me like I’m mental.

“No. Why _should_ we do something? It’s not going to do anything but make it all worse.”

“On principle!” Sirius declares, as though affronted by the mere suggestion of passivity. “He’s blackened your name, Prongs. He said you called her the ‘M’ word. We’ve hospitalized people for less. And this one would actually deserve it!”

“He has a point,” Peter says nervously, crossing his arms. “Do you really want people thinking you’re a blood supremacist? That’s only a step away from Death-Eater-dom.”

“I don’t think that’s a phrase,” Remus says quietly, and Peter shoots him a look of annoyance.

“You know what I mean,” he mumbles.

“I don’t care,” I snap. “If she thinks that I could actually _do_ that, then fine. Let her. I don’t give a toss.”

“Clearly you do,” Remus says gently.

“No, I really, really don’t. I have been nothing but pleasant since school started,” Peter snorts and I choose to ignore him, “but she still wants to think the worst of me. So, fine. I’m done. Evans can do whatever the hell she likes.”

The other three exchange a look that clearly tells me they think I’m being an idiot, so I glare at them. “And if you can’t respect that,” I add angrily, “then bugger off and leave me alone.” I storm out of our dorm room, ignoring the fact that it makes me look like I’m a five-year-old having a tantrum.

I bump into Hestia on my way out of the common room. She takes one look at me, and sighs. “Come on,” she says, pulling on one of my sleeves.

“Where are we going?” I growl as Hestia drags me through the halls.

“Come on,” is all she says. Still glowering, I follow Hestia out of the school and into the Gryffindor changing room next to the Quidditch pitch.

I’m so absorbed in my own misery that I very nearly miss it when Hestia stiffens as two Ravenclaws walk past us in the other direction. I twist my head to see who they were, and recognize them as Marlene McKinnon and Imogen Heap.

“What’s that about?” I ask Hestia, curious, but she just shrugs.

“Nothing. Heap gets on my nerves is all.”

When we get to the Gryffindor change rooms, Hestia immediately goes to her cubby, pushing her book bag to the back and then beginning to change into her practice robes. I can’t help but smile a little when I realize her plan. Jones knows me so _very_ well.

In ten minutes, we’re both changed and heading out onto the pitch, me with one of the school’s brooms as mine has yet to be replaced.

We stop in the center of the pitch and Hestia pulls a snitch out of her pocket. “First to twenty?” she asks, and I nod, mounting my broom. Hestia follows suite and then releases the snitch which promptly zips away over the field. “Three,” she says, bending her knees, “two, one!”

We launch into the air, circling, searching for the little golden ball. We both start in the direction we saw it fly off in, and I quickly lose myself in the familiar exercise.

Hestia is the best seeker in the school and the reason she is, is because we practice. The other teams just have their seekers search for it on their own, but Hestia and I started doing this when we were on the team in third year. She gets to practice with the added stress of competition, and I get to work on agility and reflexes, two things that have helped me immensely as a chaser.

Unsurprisingly, Hestia wins the first five rounds, finding and catching the snitch before I do, and by sheer luck I manage to catch the next three. We go back and forth with the wins, but eventually, Hestia pulls ahead of me, cinching a victory after we’ve caught the snitch near to thirty-something times in total.

We’ve been up in the air for a good few hours before she finally wins and we set back down onto the grass, breathing heavily, sweating profusely, and chilled to the bone from the late-September air.

“I would’ve won if I had my Nimbus,” I insist, taking Hestia’s broom and putting hers and mine on my shoulder.

“Yeah,” she laughs, looping an arm around my waist, “keep telling yourself that.”

“This one’s just so old,” I complain. “It doesn’t respond quickly at all.”

“Mm-hm. Please tell me you’ll have a new broom by the game?”

“I’ll have a new one by next practice, if I can help it,” I sigh. “If not, I’d rather borrow Padfoot’s than use this thing again.”

“You’re such a spoiled brat,” Hestia laughs, whacking my chest with her free hand. I grin down at her.

“So, I’m used to good quality equipment,” I shrug. “Dad always wanted me to be a beater like him. Too bad I got Mum’s lankiness instead of his bulky brawn.”

“I happen to rather like your lankiness,” Hestia says, nuzzling closer to me, and I tighten my arm around her shoulders.

“Tell you a secret?” I ask, and when she nods, I whisper, “I gathered as much,” and she snorts.

My better mood manages to last until we get back to the common room and I see Remus leaving for patrols. I sober when I remember that his partner is Evans.

And Evans thinks I’m a stereotypical pureblood anti-muggles-and-their-spawn blood-supremacist.

Jones notices my mood darken and takes hold of my hand. “Should we go up to your room?”

I pull a face. “Padfoot has a new girl. Some new fifth year named Morag Cox or something. She asked him for help with homework.”

 “Ah. So, a little less than the usual amount of brains, then?” I snort and Hestia smiles. “You know,” she whispers, “I could do with a bath. And so could you,” she adds with a rather significant look.

I allow my mouth to quirk into a crooked smile. “And I just so happen to know the password to the Prefects bathroom.”

 

**LILY**

It takes me a while to notice that Potter is actively avoiding me. Honestly, the roles have always been reversed, which is why it takes me so long to notice the signs. It takes Potter cancelling our study sessions twice for me to catch on.

Two weeks of him dodging corners and using every technique I used to use against him. But once I notice, I can’t stop.

He’s leaving the Great Hall before I can sit down to eat. He disappears down another hallway when he sees me coming. If I sit down to study in the common room, he takes Jones up to his own room to “study.” (Although given that they both keep handing in assignments, they may actually _be_ studying.)

In class, Potter sits as far away from me as he can, and in Potions, he ignores any attempt I make to talk to him. He sits stiffly for the entire class, focusing his entire attention on _actually_ taking notes just so that he has a genuine excuse to not interact with me.

And always, always, _always_ , whenever I try to reschedule the mandatory sessions, Potter claims Quidditch practice as an excuse, one his girlfriend readily verifies.

So it takes me another week after I notice Potter avoiding me for me to actually manage to corner him. And I have to resort to drastic measures in order to accomplish even that.

I wait until after Potter has dragged Jones up to his room (as is his new habit whenever he sees me even coming through the Portrait hole) before following them up the stairs a few minutes later. My reasoning is that he’ll be trapped in his room and won’t actually be able to dodge me this time.

Still, even though I know it’s the only way I’ll get him to talk to me, I can’t help but hesitate before walking up the boys’ staircase. I never thought I would have reason to go up there – most of the girls who do who _aren’t_ in a relationship are immediately labeled slags for all time.

I hesitate again before trying to turn the doorknob of Potter’s room, some part of me expecting to find it locked and barred, given the boys’ proclivity for criminal behaviour. I’m not altogether happy when I find that the knob turns easily, and the door swings inwards without a creak.

The movement does manage to catch the attention of the room’s occupants, all of whom are sitting in the middle of the floor, their books and parchments arrayed around them. Five sets of eyes turn immediately in my direction. Pettigrew squeaks, Black glowers, and both Lupin and Jones look somewhat interested to find me there. But Potter… Potter just narrows his eyes with a look of cool detachment – his new go-to expression around me.

“Can we help you, Evans?” Black growls, setting his roll of parchment on the ground beside him and crossing his arms.

“I—” I wince when it comes out as a squeak, and clear my throat. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you, Potter.” There. That sounded more normal.

“What is it?” he asks in a bored tone.

I glower. “You can’t keep skipping study sessions.”

“And why not?” I notice a tinge of contempt in his tone.

“Because it affects me too. I am now somewhat responsible for your grades, and if you don’t learn the content properly then that reflects badly on me. And if it reflects too badly on me, I won’t be made prefect again next year.”

“Not my problem.”

“And if you keep skipping, I’ll report you to McGonagall.”

All four of the boys wince at that, and Jones ducks her head to hide a smile.

“Fine,” Potter says, “I’ll stop skiving off.”

“And we need to meet up this Sunday to practice brewing that potion you completely messed up in class today,” I add, causing him to glower.

“Sunday’s Halloween.”

“Then we’ll meet during the day so it doesn’t conflict with the feast.”

“I don’t want to,” he says petulantly, and I honestly feel like growling at him.

“You made the Draught of Peace explode,” I say scornfully. “A potion that has no volatile or naturally irate ingredients, and you managed to produce an honest-to-goddess explosion. So we _are_ meeting on Sunday.” I think Jones snorts.

Potter narrows his eyes at me. “Fine. Is that it?”

“Stop skipping study sessions,” I snap before turning on my heel and storming back down to the common room, deliberately leaving his door wide open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	22. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- TWENTY-TWO -_ **

 

_ Miss L. Evans _

_You are cordially invited to attend a gathering in the office of Professor Horace Slughorn on the evening of October 29 th for a Samhain celebration.  Should you wish, you may invite another classmate to attend as your personal guest. Please RSVP. Costume required._

_~ An invitation received on October 10 th by owl_

 

**LILY**

The Slug Club has become famous over the years, evolving into a nearly crucial milestone for all those who aspire to great social heights. Professor Slughorn almost always manages to pinpoint exactly who it is at Hogwarts that will succeed at life, and very few members don’t meet that expectation. Having Slughorn’s stamp of approval is like having the winning ticket for a perfect life. And, as such, some Slug Club members let this favouritism blow their egos way out of proportion. It’s the main reason that I dislike Club meetings. But the ones where Slughorn invites his old students back are the worst. Nothing makes me more uncomfortable than being expected to schmooze and simper and brown-nose my way into peoples’ good graces.

The Friday before Halloween is one such event, and Slughorn has even allowed us to bring non-club members as dates if we want. If I weren’t in a relationship, I’d be asking Alice’s boyfriend, Frank Longbottom, to come with me as a friend, since I won’t have Sev to distract me this year. It’s nice to simply spend the evening with someone as equally uninterested in sucking up as I am. And Frank has a very dry sense of humour that tends to fly under most peoples’ radars, but never fails to amuse me (and Alice, obviously).

But I _am_ with Lachlan and, as the Hogwarts Golden Couple, we’re expected to do the whole ‘couples costume’ thing. Lachlan wants us to go as Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw, but I manage to convince him that we should go as Claudio and Hero from _Much Ado About Nothing_ , my favourite Shakespearian play. I’m going through a Shakespeare phase again. Ideally, I’d prefer to go as Beatrice and Benedick, but I don’t think that Lachlan can believably pull off the male half of the witty and warring pair.

By the time that we arrive at the party, Lachlan in a late 1500s military uniform and me in a summer dress from the same period, the party is in full swing. Slughorn beams when he sees us enter the room, and he waddles his way over.

“The two Ls,” he chuckles, smiling genially at us. “How are my favourite students?”

“Hello, Professor,” I say with a smile, amused by his enthusiasm.

“My dear Miss Evans, I hope you won’t mind my borrowing Mr. Tighe for a moment? There are some people I must introduce him to,” Slughorn says, already pulling Lachlan into the mass of people. “There are some brilliant potions makers here tonight, Miss Evans, whom you might find interesting. Come find me later and I’ll introduce you!”

“Alright, Professor,” I say, but Slughorn is already weaving back into the crowd, dragging an alarmed Lachlan behind him. Lachlan barely has time to mouth, _Help me!_ , before he’s swallowed up by the guests.

Chuckling a little at my boyfriend’s misfortune, I make my way over to the heavily laden buffet table where there is a large punch bowl filled with pumpkin juice.

I’m ladling the liquid into a goblet when a voice near my elbow says, “Would you mind pouring two more?”

I turn to see Hestia Jones, a fellow Club member, standing behind me, decked out in full Quidditch regalia and looking rather haggard. I can’t help but laugh a little. “You sure you don’t want something a little stronger?” I ask, nodding towards the other end of the table where the alcoholic drinks are laid out.

Jones pulls a face. “Probably, but as soon as I touch those, James will be all over them, and we have practice in the morning. Be grateful you’ve never dealt with him hungover, Evans. He’s a million times whinier, and four times more annoying.”

I frown a little as I hand her the goblet I just poured. “Potter’s here?”

“He’s my plus one,” Jones says, passing me an empty goblet for filling.

“I suppose that makes sense,” I say ruefully. “He is your boyfriend.”

“And it’s something that never ceases to amaze me.” A little bit of breathlessness works its way into her tone, and I look at her sharply. She catches my glance, and smirks. “You may loath him, Evans, but you’re about the only one who can’t see his good points.”

“Potter doesn’t have good any points,” I mumble.

Jones snorts. “Sometimes I might agree with you. But he can be sweet when it suits him. He was sweet to you even though you never noticed. Not that I’m complaining, if you don’t mind me saying it. After all, it’s thanks to you he finally woke up this year and payed attention.”

“I don’t think I follow you,” I say, frowning. I pass Jones the second goblet and fill a third quickly, taking a swallow of this one.

Her smirk is back. It’s annoyingly similar to Potter’s. “Doesn’t matter,” she says, waving a hand. “I’m just being a drama queen. It’s a by-product of spending too much time with Sirius Black. Ignore me.”

I smile faintly, but it quickly fades to a glower as a second Quidditch-robed figure strides out of the crowd towards us, that obvious and familiar mop of black hair somewhat flattened by the Quidditch goggles sitting above his forehead.

Potter doesn’t even look at me, just takes one of the goblets from Jones and narrows his eyes at it suspiciously. “Remind me again why we’re doing this sober?” he complains, taking a swig of the juice.

“Six am practice,” Jones reminds him, and he swears quietly.

“You could change it, couldn’t you? Just put it later in the day so I can get a bit buzzed. Just to take the edge off the boredom,” he wheedles, but Jones looks unimpressed.

“We don’t have to stay long,” Jones assures him. “Just a few hours or so.”

“Right.” Potter says, taking another swig. Finally, he looks over at me. “Can I help you, Evans?” His voice, somewhat playful a second ago, is harsh.

I don’t even answer, just turn and walk into the crowd.

 

**JAMES**

Hestia frowns at me as Evans walks away.

“Was that really necessary?” she asks.

“Remember that old saying, treat others how you want to be treated? She treats me like I’m the worst person in the world. I’m only returning the favour.”

Jones shakes her head in disgust. “Well, I have some elbows to rub. Stay here and stay out of trouble.” I give her a salute as she walks off.

My heavy Quidditch robes are starting to get rather warm, so I try to distract myself by watching the crowd. After a few minutes, I catch sight of Regulus Black, Sirius’s younger brother, and I glower. He catches my eye and glares right back.

The staring competition is quickly interrupted by a quiet, “Excuse me,” and I turn to see Marlene McKinnon standing next to me. She points at the punch bowl. “I wanted to get a drink.”

“And I’m in the way,” I say, grinning. I step back and she reaches for the ladle and a goblet. “Nice costume,” I say, and Marlene smiles.

“Sometimes it’s fun to be a hag,” she says. But even the moles she’s magically grown can’t completely hide her looks.

She really is extraordinarily pretty, with long brown hair that falls in near-perfect ringlets to her elbows. She’s turned it into a bit of a rats’ nest for tonight, but here and there are ringlets that she missed. Under the hag makeup, Marlene’s skin is abnormally clear, with a light dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Her brown eyes are large, and I’ve heard some of the more poetically-inclined boys describe them as the colour of melting chocolate, swirls of different shades of brown mixing together.

Marlene McKinnon, of course, is the most perfect girl at Hogwarts. She’s the Ravenclaw Prefect for our year, and a shoe-in for Head Girl. She’s the smartest in our year, and by far the most attractive. Every person in Hogwarts either wants to date her or be her and I’m no exception. Even when I was obsessed with Evans I could recognize Marlene for the jewel she is.

“So, _you’re_ not in the Slug Club,” Marlene says, leaning back against the table behind us.

“I am a plus one,” I say, holding up a single finger. I point it at Jones, who is now on the other side of the room. “That one’s plus one.”

Marlene smiles again. “And I am an original. That one,” She points at a girl dressed as a fairy who is making her way through the crowded office towards us, “Is my plus one.”

The fairy smiles as she reaches our side. “What are we talking about?”

“You,” Marlene grins. She hands the fairy the goblet she’s currently holding and pours herself a new one. “You know James, don’t you? James Potter, Imogen Heap.”

“Immy,” the fairy corrects.

“I remember,” I say. “We had Astronomy with the Ravenclaws in first and second year.”

“We did,” Immy agrees. “I had hoped you might not remember me from then, though. I was rather pitiful pre-puberty.”

“Well you’ve certainly changed since then,” I say, and Immy smiles like I’ve just given her the best compliment.

“Immy’s a house-traitor,” Marlene says conspiratorially. “You see, she adores Quidditch, but unfortunately not _our_ Quidditch team. Your lot are who she cheers for.”

Immy turns red and glares at Marlene, causing the other girl to laugh.

“James?” I turn to see Jones is once again beside me. “There’s someone who wants to meet you. Hi Marlene. Immy.”

“Hi Hestia,” Immy says, smiling prettily.

“Come on,” Hestia says, pulling on my elbow.

“Nice talking to you,” I say to the other girls, and allow my girlfriend to drag me away.

The person Jones wanted me to meet is Hubertus Lohrenz, the sports editor for the Daily Prophet. After a little bit, though, Jones slips into the crowd, and I catch sight of her a few minutes later talking earnestly with Marlene.

Jones says something, and Marlene shakes her head, responding just as sincerely. Jones catches sight of Immy coming towards them and breaks off the conversation, walking away, and I can’t help but think Marlene looks rather forlorn.

I excuse myself from Mr. Lohrenz and make my way over to Jones.

“You all right?” I ask, and Hestia gives me a brilliant smile. A completely fake, brilliant smile.

“Peachy,” she says, and downs her juice in one. She swallows, looking very much like she wished it contained something stronger, and walks off again, leaving me once more alone.

 

**LILY**

“Horrible, isn’t it?” I turn to see Severus standing beside me.

“The party?” I ask warily.

One corner of his mouth quirks up a bit. “Neither of us have ever liked these things. Remind me again why we do this?”

“Good grades,” I answer quickly, and his smile gets a bit bigger.

“Ah, yes. The old schmoozing technique,” Severus says drily. “Why study when you can just rub elbows with the right people?”

“How else would a muggle-born like me get top marks?” I ask quietly, and his smile evaporates.

“I’m sorry, Lily,” he says, after an awkward moment of silence. “I—” But I don’t get to find out what he wanted to say, because he cuts himself off abruptly, his eyes catching on something behind me. I turn to see Potter glaring at us with so much venom he could be a basilisk.

“Oh, for the love of…” I sigh. “I am so done with this.”

“Done with what?” Lachlan has appeared next to my elbow, having finally extracted himself from Slughorn’s conversations. “Snape,” he says with a nod. Sev nods back.

“That,” I say, jutting my chin in Potter’s direction. His glare has strengthened. I’m not sure where his handler has disappeared to.

“I should say something, right?” Lachlan says. “I’m going to say something.” And then he’s striding firmly across the floor before I can even decide if I should stop him.

Potter’s demeanor changes from anger to ice as soon as Lachlan approaches him. Lachlan says something and Potter responds with a tight expression. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flicker of scarlet, and I turn my head to see Jones making her way out of the assembly of guests. She frowns when she sees Potter and Lachlan talking and starts towards them in such a way that I just know my boyfriend’s about to get a what-for.

“I think Tighe needs back up,” Severus mutters and I nod, already moving forwards.

“…time to have this conversation,” Jones is saying as we get within earshot. “And it also isn't really the place.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Potter asks with feigned surprise. “And here I thought it was the _perfect_ place to start another fistfight.”

“If I remember correctly, Potter, you threw the first punch,” Lachlan says. Something about that statement niggles at my memory, but I push it aside, because Potter’s coldness is starting to turn back to anger.

“Oh, right, how could I forget? I called her a mudblood, didn’t I? And then… remind me what you did, Tighe? Because I seem to be having some difficulties remembering.”

“Jones is right,” I say. “Slughorn won’t be happy if you cause a scene.”

“Technically I think _you’re_ the cause, love,” Jones says quietly, moving away from me a little.

“Yes, because I’m the one who made Potter call me the M word,” I say sarcastically, irked by her reaction.

“Lily’s right,” Lachlan says, looping an arm around my waist. I feel more than see Sev stiffen beside me, but I ignore him. “This isn’t the time or place for this.”

“Fine,” Potter hisses. “Tomorrow night, then. The Care of Magical Creatures grove in the Forbidden Forest. Eleven o’clock. We can settle this like _purebloods_.” He practically spits the word at Lachlan, and I can feel him stiffen. “Bring a second. I’ll have satisfaction from you.”

“I’ll be his second.” I look over at Severus in shock, surprised to have heard him speak. Sev crosses his arms and sneers at Potter. “I suppose your ever-present sidekick, Black, will be yours?”

“Well, I only stand by the very best. But you might want to pick someone else if you feel the same way, _half-blood_.” Potter hurls the term at Lachlan like it’s in an insult.

Lachlan’s jaw tightens angrily and Sev snarls, but Lachlan’s already talking. “I accept your terms Potter. Have Black confirm tomorrow with Snape. And I’ll see you in the Forest.”

 

“What the hell was that?” I demand, following Lachlan into his Head Dorm room which is adjacent to the Prefects Study and Bathroom. We left the party right after the altercation with Potter, Lachlan saying something about needing to sleep before tomorrow. The whole way back to the Study, I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to cause a scene in the hallway, but now that we’re in the privacy of his single room, I don’t have to check myself. “What the hell is a second, and what did he mean by ‘satisfaction’?”

 Lachlan sighs, pulling his hair out of its ponytail and removing the military jacket. “It’s nothing to worry about, Lily,” he says, his blond curls falling to frame his face. “Really. It’s an old pureblood tradition – something called a Wizards’ Duel. Most of the time, duels get resolved before we even get to the point of fighting. They’re antiquated and out of style, and there’s no way Potter will follow through with this.”

“No?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“I’m a seventh year, Lily,” Lachlan says. I bridle at the hint of condescension in his tone. “I’m more skilled than Potter is and I know more spellwork. He won’t want to fight me once he’s had time to cool down.”

I can’t help but stare at him incredulously. “Are you really that stupid?” Lachlan frowns and opens his mouth to say something, but I keep talking. “Potter and Black fought Death Eaters this summer and survived. Both of Potter’s parents are legendary for their fighting skills. Potter’s already _mastered_ non-verbal combat spells and he bested _me_ with almost no effort at the beginning of this year! Granted, I’m not a _seventh year_ like your prestigious self, but I am still more than decent when it comes to wandwork. _And_ I had top marks last year in Defence. If you actually fight Potter, he’ll kill you!”

“And if he does, Snape will kill him.”

“No, Black will kill Sev before he even has a chance to draw his wand,” I snap. “This is idiotic, Lachlan! You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” he says patiently, a sort of patronising expression in his bottle-green eyes.

“No, you don’t,” I respond, just as patiently. “Really, Lachlan. Yes, it upsets me that he called me that word – twice, now – but it’s not worth fighting over. Just let it go.”

“I can’t Lily. It’s gone too far.”

“It can’t have.”

“Trust me. It has.”

 

**JAMES**

We stay at the party for another hour after Tighe and Evans leave, despite my prodding Hestia to go. Instead, she makes me stand on the sidelines and twiddle my thumbs while she talks with all the bigheaded buffoons standing about. I'll admit, I'm quite pissed off by the time she nods at me that we can go. I'm supposed to be having a duel tomorrow night, but she's more concerned with asking after the health of some Ministry official's cat?

Really supportive.

I can't help but stomp a bit as we make our way back to the common room, and I don't bother to say goodnight. I'm tired and angry, and I'd rather try to get a bit of sleep before dealing with the boys in the morning.

Snores are echoing from Peter's curtains, and I swear that a feminine sigh echoes from behind Sirius's. Shaking my head, I divest myself of my Quidditch uniform, and slip into loose trousers before climbing into bed and pulling my drapes firmly shut around me.

The heavy fabric muffles the sounds from the other boys and Sirius’s nighttime guest, so I'm left in pitch blackness and near silence. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my muscles to try to relax, but I have a sinking feeling that sleep won't come easily tonight.

And that it won't be a restful sleep when it does come.

 

I'm sick of waking up covered in sweat. I'm sick of the burning smells. I'm sick of the images of fire that seem permanently burned behind my eyelids.

And I'm sick of the guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	23. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- TWENTY-THREE -_ **

 

_... while the sudden silence from the Death Eaters is causing tensions to rise. The lack of activity in recent weeks begs the question, what are they up to? While the Auror department declined to officially comment on this silence, one reliable source reports that said office is arming up in preparation for a much-anticipated attack. They believe that the Death Eaters must be storing up power in preparation for a large offensive, although what their target might be is still a mystery…_

_~ Excerpt from the Daily Prophet_

 

**LILY**

Lachlan and I are studying in the library the next morning when Severus finds us. There’s a slightly worried pinch to his brow that catches me by surprise, and he lets out a weary sigh as he takes the seat across from me.

Lachlan sets down his quill. “I take it you spoke with Potter’s second?”

Severus glowers. “Yes. And it’s Black. As predicted.”

“And there are terms?”

Sev nods and hands over a crumpled piece of parchment:

 

_The challenger, Mr. James Henry Potter, demands satisfaction from the offender, Mr. Lachlan Murtagh Tighe, for slander against his person and for insulting a woman without due cause. Mr. Tighe must make a public and sincere apology to Mr. Potter this evening (October the 30 th) at supper in the Great Hall and tell Miss Lily Evans the truth regarding the library altercation on the day of October the 4th, or face Mr. Potter in a Wizards Duel. Henceforth, all communication between the two named parties will be carried out through their seconds, Mr. Sirius Orion Black and Mr. Severus Virgilius Snape, excepting the apology._

_Should an apology not be forthcoming and the matter be decided by duel, the winner will be determined by the first wizard to draw blood from their opponent. The duel itself will be held at 11 o’clock this evening in the Care of Magical Creatures Grove in the Forbidden Forest. The presiding Healer will be Mr. Remus John Lupin._

_SUPERBIA ERIT SATURABUNTUR._

 

“What’s that thing at the end?” I ask, reading the paper over Lachlan’s shoulder.

“Pride will be satisfied,” he says grimly. “I honestly didn’t think he was serious.”

“This all looks like a lot of nonsense to me.”

“It’s a formal challenge,” Severus says quietly. “Black wanted to push for a fight to the death, but I’m sure Lupin talked him down from it, or something. He seems to think Potter's being lenient with the 'first to blood' thing.”

“What’s this part about?” I ask, pointing to the line naming me. “You told me what happened in the library, so why is that in there?”

Lachlan just shakes his head. “I’m not apologizing to him. This is stupid." I roll my eyes at his blatant decision to ignore me, but I let it go. "If he wants to fight me, then fine. We’ll fight. Return the challenge to Black. Tell him we’ll see them on the duelling ground.”

Severus nods and takes the paper back before moving to leave the table. I stand up as he does, putting my half-finished essay into my shoulder bag. Lachlan raises an eyebrow in question and I say, "There's something I forgot that I need to talk to Slughorn about. I'll see you at lunch, yeah?" Lachlan nods, and Sev and I leave the library together. We get some glares and glances from the few students out and about on a Saturday morning, but I'm used to those, so I ignore them.

After a fair amount of awkward silence, Severus clears his throat. "I'm glad we're friends again."

"We aren't, really."

"But you're talking to me, at least."

"That doesn't make us friends, Severus," I say firmly. "Until you stop faffing about with those would-be Death Eaters, then you and I can't be friends. Death Eaters stand against everything that I am and everything that makes me happy to _be_ _me_. It makes it really hard for us to have any kind of amicable relationship if you support them."

"It was never a problem before," Sev says, practically whingeing.

"Yes, it was. I just ignored it before. It’s always been a problem, Sev. And half the problem is that you don't think there is one!" I sigh, pushing my hands through my hair to drag it away from my face. "I don't want to get into this. And there is something I wanted to ask you, anyway."

"What is it?" Sev says, somewhat glumly.

"Why are you doing this?" He stops walking and stares at me. I don't notice for a few more steps, and when I do, I turn back to face him. "Apparently, this is dangerous. You hate everyone who isn't a Slytherin. You and I aren't friends anymore. You've never done anything for another person in your life. Other than me," I amend, "and even that was only when we were younger. So why are you doing this? What do you get out of it?"

"Potter's arse on a platter?" I cross my arms and give him that look, the one that tells him he's being stupid. "Look, Flower— _Lily_ ," he amends when I narrow my eyes. "Believe it or not, I _do_ want you to be happy. I'm not ecstatic that you're dating Tighe, but I'm happy you're not dating Potter. And yeah, I suppose that normally, I wouldn't do anything in this situation. But maybe if I do this you'll realize that I really do care about you. And no one has more experience being on the receiving end of Potter's spells than me," Sev says. He tries to make it sound joking, but I can still hear the bitterness and hurt and anger underneath. "So I'll defend your boyfriend. And maybe do a bit of work towards making you not hate me anymore."

"I don't _hate_ you, Sev," I say quietly.

"No?" he asks, his eyes brightening.

"No."

"Good."

And we resume walking.

 

**JAMES**

I never did talk to the others about what my crash on into the Quidditch pitch was about. Once they heard what Tighe had told Evans about me, they basically just let the whole issue drop and stopped barring the dorm room door.

Today, Peter, Remus and I are just putting the finishing touches on our plans for Sirius’s birthday next week, when the dorm-room door opens, admitting Sirius himself. Remus quickly slides a text book over the supply list we were pouring over, but Sirius doesn’t notice. It’s been hardly an hour since we issued Tighe the formal challenge, and there's a miniscule pinch in between his eyebrows – Sirius for 'I'm nervous.'

Remus frowns when Sirius flops onto his bed. "This can't be good."

"It isn't," Sirius says, staring up at the ceiling. "He refuses to apologize. You'll have to duel him."

"Fantastic," Remus grimaces, and Peter starts to get that startled, withdrawn look of his – Peter for 'I'm nervous.'

"Come on," I say, trying to put some joviality in my tone. "How bad can this go? I've got Mum and Dad's training from the whole summer still drilled into my muscles and memory, and if things really go to hell, Pads can pick up the slack."

"But he's a seventh year," Peter says quietly. "And Head Boy, which means good grades across the board. Which means he's good at Defence. Which translates to having good combat skills."

“Having good Defence grades does not mean you’re good at combat,” I say. “Just look at Evans.”

“He’s still a year ahead.”

"Well, I've mastered some seventh-year spells, _and_ non-verbal spells, _and_ Snape's made up spells, _and_ Dad's duelling techniques. Honestly, _he_ 's the one who should be scared."

"But it wouldn't hurt to practice," Remus says, and I look at him, startled. "Let’s go the Defence room. We can work on Patronuses and non-verbal spells too."

Much to my chagrin, Sirius and Remus insist on drilling me in duelling techniques all afternoon, sending Peter to the kitchens to fetch lunch so we don’t have to go to the Great Hall. We'll have to attend supper in case Tighe changes his mind about duelling, but it seems unlikely given his rapid response to the challenge.

When supper _does_ come, I'm too nervous to eat. Tighe and Evans sit at the opposite end of the Gryffindor table and he never even glances in my direction.

"So we're really doing this," Remus mutters as we finish eating. Tighe still hasn't made a move.

"That we are," I reply, and get to my feet.

 

**LILY**

Lachlan and Severus both try to convince me to stay behind, but I'm quite firm: Either I come to the duel, or I'll report them all to McGonagall. Eventually they give in, as I always knew they would.

The Care of Magical Creatures grove is really not much of anything, only an oblong clearing just inside the forest with a few layers of younger saplings between its edge and the general grounds.

Black, Potter and Lupin are already at the grove when we arrive. Black has his wand out and is burning marks into the dying grass as Potter stretches his muscles a little. I can’t help but notice that his shoulders are broader than Lachlan’s and that the muscles in his arms will give him the advantage if this dissolves into a fist fight. But as I'm studying him, I notice that Potter looks drawn and exhausted, like he hasn't slept in a month. How long has he been like this?

Lupin is pacing off to the side, twisting the hem of his cloak to and fro with his fingers, worrying the edge horribly.

“Training for the ballet, Potter?” Severus says beside me, and Potter’s head snaps up, as does Black’s. Black tucks his wand away and Lupin drops his cloak hem quickly, locking his fingers behind his back so as to keep from fidgeting. Potter sneers at Snape, but doesn’t deign to respond.

Black frowns when he notices me standing between the boys. “You can’t be here,” he says. “No witnesses.” I just cross my arms and glare at him, daring him to _make_ me leave.

Surprisingly, it’s Potter who defends my presence. “Let her stay if she wants, Pads,” he says. “It all started with her, after all."

Black looks like he very much wants to argue, but he apparently decides against it as he doesn't comment. Instead he returns to surveying the ground. Apparently satisfied with whatever he sees, he gives a nod to Potter, and then I’m being ushered over towards Lupin.

His brow is furrowed and he’s biting on his lip now.

“Just fiddle with the cloak,” I mutter to him. “You're less likely to injure yourself that way.”

Lupin looks over at me in surprise, releasing his lip. I give him a small, tight smile, seeing the same worried expression on his face that I’m sure is on mine.

"The usual rules apply," Black says as Lachlan and Potter approach the marked ground. "Ten paces away, and you can fire when the sickle hits the ground. First blood wins. Are these terms acceptable to you?"

"You can still back out," Lachlan says. "I won't hold it against you." Sev mutters something under his breath. I think it's "I will," but I can't be sure.

" _You_ can still apologize,” Potter retorts.

There’s a moment of silence as he and Lachlan glare at each other, and then Severus says, “We accept the terms.”

Black nods and gestures to the middle line he marked out. “Ten paces each,” he says.

The boys take their places, but neither raise their wands in a salute. Severus doesn’t even prompt them to, he just tosses the sickle into the air. I watch it twisting, flashing silver in the moonlight, rising up before falling hard on the ground.

There’s an explosion of movement.

The moment the sickle lands, Potter whips his wand up and casts a non-verbal spell, sending a jet of golden light at Lachlan. Lachlan blocks it and then retaliates, but Potter sends a spell directly at the oncoming magic, the two spells colliding with a burst of orange and purple. The light hasn’t even faded yet, and Potter’s sent another spell at Lachlan.

And so it continues for almost ten minutes, each boy attacking with a ferocity and determination that surprises me. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think they were trying to kill each other. But finally, one of Potter’s spells lands, sending Lachlan flying backwards into a tree.

He hits with a _thump_ and slides to its base, curling up a bit in pain. Blood seeps from a cut on his forehead.

“First blood,” Black says with more than a little celebratory contempt. “James wins.”

Severus glares at Black, but doesn’t respond, only crosses his arms tightly.

“That’s my cue,” Lupin says quietly, and I jolt, having forgotten he was there during the battle. Lupin crosses over to Lachlan, and I’m right on his heels, helping to turn Lachlan onto his back while Lupin casts a _Lumos_ to get a better look at the gash.

“I’m fine,” Lachlan groans, brushing us both aside as he attempts to get to his feet.

“Stay down,” Potter growls, coming over, “or I might think that you haven’t learned your lesson.”

“And what would that be?”

“That you shouldn’t speak ill of those who don’t deserve it.”

And much to my surprise, Lachlan makes no answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a second to type an adjective (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.) into the review box and then click the Post Review button, I would be eternally grateful!  
> Timmins


	24. Book One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing’s mine. I wish it were, but Merlin knows I’m not JKR. And as always, innumerable thanks to my Beta, Lady_Panthea. Couldn’t do it without your help!

** Book One **

**_\- TWENTY-FOUR -_ **

 

_— red and orange with white and blue in the center… beautiful—_

 

**LILY**

_“… those who don’t deserve it.”_

Not, “ _Don’t insult me and my friends_.” Not, “ _You shouldn’t badmouth girls,_ ” or “ _underestimate your opponents,”_ or something equally less cryptic.

No, Potter told Lachlan that he, _“shouldn’t speak ill of those who don’t deserve it.”_

Of _those_ who don’t deserve it.

As in, _multiple people_.

Which begs the question: Who did Lachlan say bad things about?

He said some not particularly nice things about Potter, but he didn’t exaggerate anything. He just recited the events.

If I can believe Lachlan’s account of it, that is.

Because Potter did seem inordinately peeved about it all. I mean, he seemed genuinely insulted when I told him what Lachlan said happened.

And who else is it that Lachlan spoken “ill” of?

With these thoughts filling my head, I very nearly decide against going to our study session the next day. I don’t know how I should act around Potter or what I should say. Do I tell him that I’m starting to doubt Lachlan? Do I ask him his side of the library incident? Do I apologize for hating him against reason for six years?

Well, maybe not that last one, given that I did have reasons. I must have had reasons in the beginning. Even if I can’t really remember them anymore…

But when Sunday morning arrives, I do walk into the potions room (granted, with more than a little trepidation). I blink in surprise to find Potter already sitting at our station with the ingredients for the Draught of Peace laid out in front of him. He’s pouring over the textbook and frowning slightly, looking extremely studios with the sleeves of his jumper rolled to his elbows and his spectacles slipping down the bridge his nose. I notice that the purple, sleepless bruises are still present under his eyes.

He looks up as I approach the station, and I’m relieved not to see any animosity in his eyes for once. But there’s a great deal of wariness. Still, it’s better than the cold distance he’s been giving me recently.

I set my things down and he pushes the book towards me.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says bluntly, and I almost smile.

“I never thought I’d see the day when James Potter would admit he didn’t know something,” I say quietly, and a glower starts to cloud his expression. Quickly, I flash him a small smile so he knows I wasn’t trying to be mean, and then bend down to pick up my own textbook.

Potter stares at the book once I find the right page, and gently traces a finger over the ink covering the margins. “Well, well, well… Never thought you’d be one to deface a book.”

I give him a sideways glance. “It’s my book, so I’m hardly defacing it. And I just made a few adjustments to make it easier.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You changed the instructions?”

I blush a little, and hesitate before saying, “Severus figured out a few tricks to make most potions easier to brew, and since we were always partners, I learned them too. They really do make the whole process smoother.”

Potter narrows his eyes. “You expect me to trust something Snape discovered?”

I give him a pointed look. “I discovered some of these too, you know. And Sev’s always been a genius with potions. I seem incompetent compared to him.” I can’t help a hint of wistfulness from creeping into my voice. As horrible as he’s been lately, I do miss Sev.

“Then why didn’t you partner with _him_ this year?” Potter mutters darkly.

My wistfulness evaporates. “Because Slughorn forced me to work with _you_.”

Potter genuinely glares at me then and yanks my book towards him. He looks at my notes for the first step, and then picks up the slate shard to begin dicing the valerian. I sigh. This is not a good start.

We work in silence for a while. I let Potter do most of it since he’s the one who needs to learn here, lending a hand with some of the simpler chopping and crushing. Finally, we’ve completed all the preparatory steps and reached the first stage of brewing.

Once we have the potion simmering happily over the burner, there’s nothing left to do but wait and stir occasionally. Potter pulls a Snitch out of his pocket and begins his usual game of catch and release, studiously ignoring me. I glance over at the open door, but there’re no students nearby. In fact, no one’s passed by this classroom for the last half-hour.

I take a steadying breath. It’s now or never, I suppose.

I fix my gaze on the worn wooden desk in front of me. I’ll never be able to talk to him if I have to look at him too. “Potter,” I say. He grunts. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” he says peevishly, and I swallow down my annoyance. He shoots me a smirk. “But I suppose you can ask another.”

“What happened that day in the library?” I ask, tracing a finger over a whorl in the wood.

Potter is quiet for a long moment, so long that I look over at him to make sure he heard me. He’s stopped playing with the Snitch and is staring at me, his hazel eyes inscrutable behind his spectacles. “I thought you knew what happened in the library,” he says carefully.

I look back at the table. “I’m starting to think Lachlan may not have told me the truth.”

Potter snorts. “No kidding.”

I tamp down my annoyance, knowing it won’t get us anywhere if I snap at him. “I’d like to hear your side of the story, if you don’t mind.”

“Why the change of heart? You never cared before,” he says bitterly.

“Well, I had no reason to believe you over Lachlan before, did I?”

“And you do now?”

I begin to trace my nail over a heart some bored student carved into the desktop. “Now I don’t know who to believe. I figured I should at least hear what you have to say before I pick a side.”

“You already picked a side,” Potter says firmly, and resumes playing with the Snitch.

I look over at him, exasperated. “I’m giving you a chance, here,” I snap. “I’m giving you the opportunity to explain _why_ you called me a mudblood. But if you don’t want to take it, then fine.”

“See? You picked a side. You picked _his_ side,” Potter says, anger making his voice louder as he continues to talk. “And you’ll always take the side of whoever’s against _me_ , no matter what their opinion is. Honestly, I’m surprised you don’t just go and join the bloody Death Eaters since they’re about as opposite from _me_ as you can possibly get!” He slams the Snitch down onto the desk and storms out of the classroom before I can say anything, shutting the door behind him with a _bang!_

I stare after him, completely flabbergasted by his reaction. Here I am, giving him an opportunity to tell his side of the story, and he blows up at me! I didn’t even say anything to provoke him!

I stick my tongue out at the door in an (admittedly) childish display of temper, and return my attention to the potion. It wants stirring. On the desk next to me, the Snitch is fluttering weakly, its wings ruined by Potter’s crushing grip. I ignore it.

I’ve just started on the second set of instructions when the door bangs open. I jump in surprise, whipping my head up to see Potter storming towards me.

“I didn’t call you a mudblood,” he spits. “You’re precious Lachlan called _you_ a whore. He called me a cheating bastard, said Sirius was diseased from having sex with streetwalkers, and then said, and I quote: ‘ _You’re just pissed that I got Evans into bed before you did._ ’ So yeah, I broke his nose. And then he went crying to you, telling you a shitload of crap and you drank it up like the good little lapdog you are!”

Potter’s chest is heaving, his breaths coming heavy and fast as he glares at me with so much animosity, I’m surprised I don’t dissolve on the spot. If looks could kill, I would be so dead I couldn’t even come back as a ghost.

But I’m so surprised, I can’t even take offence at what he said. All I can manage is a startled, “What?”

“Tighe insulted me, my best friend, and you,” Potter reiterates. “So, yeah, I hospitalized him. That’s what happened in the library, _you stupid girl_. That, and nothing else. I never called you a mudblood. I’ve never called _anyone_ a mudblood. And if my mother ever knew I was using the word now, even in this context, she’d probably _Avada_ _Kedavra_ me herself.” He spits these last words at me, and then turns on his heal and storms back out of the room.

“Wait!” I yell, before launching to my feet and running after him. “Potter!” He’s turning a corner at the end of the hallway, and I sprint to catch up to him. “James! Stop.” He freezes when my hand closes around his wrist, and I bend over, bracing my free hand on my knee and panting. “Would you just wait a second?” I manage. “Merlin, I’m out of shape!”

When I raise my head to look at him, I find he’s already watching me, his eyes unreadable and his jaw tight with tension. “Just give me a second,” I say again. “That’s a lot to process.”

“What’s to process?” Potter says. “If you actually use that brilliant brain of yours, consider how you’ve seen me act over the past six years, and _think_ , you might just realize that everything Tighe told you is a crockload of bull.”

“I haven’t ever seen you act like a human being!” I cry. Potter opens his mouth to argue, but I talk over him, tightening my grip on his wrist. “No, I haven’t! Most of my interactions with you have been when I was around Severus. And whenever you saw him, you and your friends did everything you could to humiliate him and make him miserable. Half the time, you humiliated me and made _me_ miserable in the process! Then last year, you suddenly decided that you wanted me over every other girl in Hogwarts and rather than trying to actually _talk_ to me, you tried to threaten, bully, and blackmail me into going out with you. Every interaction I’ve had with you has been negative, so when Lachlan said you acted like the quintessential pureblood, it wasn’t that hard to believe.

“Yes, I know you can be decent to other people,” I concede. “I’ve seen how good you are with Pettigrew and Lupin. But only to them, and only to the girls you try to get in bed with. Which essentially boils down to you only being decent when it benefits _you_ ; something that purebloods do!”

Potter’s eyes are wide behind his spectacles, but some of the fight is starting to drain from his body. “Lachlan said some very nasty things about you, and I didn’t question them, and for that I am sorry,” I say as earnestly as I can. “But can you really blame me? All I can say now is that I was wrong. And I do believe you. Some of what Lachlan said never sat quite right with me. I never understood why he was the only one sent to the hospital wing, and he’s contradicted himself a few times since he first told me what happened.

“So I believe you. He lied to me. He said horrible things about someone else without any basis, he said horrible things about _me_ to someone else, and he didn’t even have the balls to own up to it. So don’t worry. I will deal with him. But I am sorry I hurt you. I didn’t… Well, no, I can’t say I didn’t mean to, because I _did_.” Potter’s jaw is tightening again (something I’m beginning to recognize as a sign that his temper is flaring), so I hurry to add, “But I’m sorry _now_. And all I can say is that I hope I won’t jump to conclusions so easily in the future. All right?”

Potter is quiet for a long moment. “All right,” he says finally, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“All right.”

“Can you let go of my arm now? I think you’re cutting off my circulation.”

I look down at my hand in surprise and realize that I still have his wrist in a death grip. “Sorry,” I say, dropping his arm hurriedly. He starts to massage some feeling back into it, looking at me in a decidedly odd way. “What?” I say, tucking some loose hairs behind my ear self-consciously.

“Nothing,” he says, that odd look still on his face. “I guess I’m sorry too. I didn’t realize that was how you felt about me.”

“Well now that you realize it, maybe you can try to remedy it.”

His eyes narrow infinitesimally. “What do you mean?”

I offer him a small smile. “I think that we both have made more than a few assumptions about each other. We don’t get along, and we never have. And I don’t know about you, but I can’t even remember how all this started.”

“I insulted Snivelly on the train in first year and you took offence and defended him,” Potter says, somewhat dazedly.

“Oh. Right.”

“You were saying?”

“Right. Erm…” I clear my throat, and tuck at my hair again, even though it’s already neatly behind my ear. “Er… Maybe we could start over? Try to forget what we think we know about each other and just… try to get along? Our… for lack of a better word, _relationship_ , has been going downhill from day one, and I think it’s safe to say we’ve hit rock bottom.” Potter smiles ruefully at this and, emboldened by his reaction, I continue: “So could we start fresh? Try to be friends, maybe? And get to know each other? We’ll be spending a lot of time together this year for Potions and with the study sessions, and I think this year will be just much more pleasant overall if we try to get along.”

Potter is quiet for a long moment. “All right.”

“All right?” I ask, brightening.

He smiles. “All right,” says Potter again, nodding.

“All right.”

Then he frowns. “Do you smell something burning?”

 

I decide that the best way to deal with Lachlan, for the time being, is to avoid him.

I meant what I’d said to Potter. Something about Lachlan’s story never seemed right to me. It hadn’t quite fit with my image of Potter, which says something given how little I think of him.

Potter is a bully, but he’s petty. He uses tricks and pranks to get his way. He doesn’t use violent words and he doesn’t strong-arm people into obeying. He manipulates them instead. And the curses and hexes that he and Black use whenever things do turn into a fight tend to be the ones most likely to get a laugh out of the inevitably assembled audience. They’ll make someone grow flowers from their ears, or transform their nose into a duck bill. They wouldn’t use the m-word, or an unforgivable, or even any type of truly harmful spell.

There’s only one time you could say that Potter ever shows the type of violent behavior used by the blood-supremacists that become Death Eaters, and that’s when things on the Quidditch pitch get rough. But otherwise he’s as harmless as a puppy.

He might bite you, yes, but it was meant to be harmless fun.

I don’t know what to do about Lachlan, though, given what Potter told me. I’m still trying to decide if everything Potter said was true. Given how angry he was that Lachlan lied, I don’t think he’d turn around and do the same thing. And some of what he says does fit with the whispered rumours that paint our Head Boy in a more unsavoury light.

In general, all of Hogwarts will agree that Lachlan is perfect. He’s handsome, he’s Head Boy, he’s got top marks, and he’s in the Slug Club, so he’s certainly destined for ‘Great Things’.

But there have always been stories. About how he can be very unpleasant when he doesn’t get his way. That he’s jealous and possessive sometimes, especially when it comes to something he desperately wants. And he doesn’t accept no as an answer. He’ll just keep pestering until he gets a yes. (I suppose he’s a little like Potter in that respect, although I’d never dare to say anything about it to either of them.)

But I ignored those rumours, just like everyone else does. And now I’m thinking that maybe I should have listened. After all, he got incredibly jealous when he thought I was choosing Potter over him. And he’s been using my safety as an excuse for wanting to know where I am at all times, which is a little excessive given we’re at Hogwarts, one of the safest places on earth. Given that, why shouldn’t the rest of the stories be true?

But on the other hand, he can be so sweet.

Like charming my bag for me over the summer.

And the way he asked me out at the start of this year – declaring his affection like some romantic hero out of a Shakespearean play.

And he takes the time to sit with me at meals at least four times a week, despite having his own friends.

He walks me to class sometimes, even when his own class is on the other of the castle. And if we’re studying together until curfew, he always walks me back to the Tower.

Lachlan was so patient in September, as I fumbled around trying to figure out how to be a girlfriend. He’s never judged me for doing something stupid, and he’s never demanded more than I could give him.

I don’t know what to do, so I do nothing.

I put my Potter-Avoidance skills to good use, dodging around corners whenever I see Lachlan farther down a hallway, or hiding out in classrooms until he’s passed. But either Lachlan’s better at finding me than Potter is, or I’m not as good at avoidance as I think I am, because I only manage to avoid him for two days.  Because unfortunately, he also has patrols Tuesday night this week.

The evening starts out like normal. Lupin and I set off from the Gryffindor common room, making our way through the castle, heading down towards the first floor to start our patrol rout. But somewhere between the second and third floor, Lupin slips away.

I don’t even notice at first. One minute we’re walking past the trophy room, and the next thing I know, he’s has vanished.

“Lupin?” I call, perplexed by his disappearance, but there’s no answer. Unfortunately, this is not the first time that Lupin has slipped away during patrols, and without fail, there’s some large-scale prank the day after.

Glowering, I keep moving.

Patrols are conducted by Mr. Filch, three professors, and one team of prefects each night. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, though, one professor is replaced by a Head Student. On Tuesdays, that Head is Lachlan.

Theoretically, they have us Prefects patrolling in pairs for safety. If one of us gets hurt, then there’s someone else nearby to help. And we’re less proficient with magic, so if something dangerous does happen, at least there will be two wands fighting instead of one. In reality, though, patrols are just to ensure that there aren’t students canoodling in the castle corners after curfew.

I’m not worried to be patrolling by myself – nothing ever happens. And it can be nice not feel as though I need to make small-talk with Lupin.

Ours is an odd relationship. We have this three-hour patrol ever month or so, but we’re not entirely friends – the fact of Potter’s existence has always stood in the way of that. I’ve always been very conscious of the fact that he’s one of Potter’s best mates, and he’s always been aware of exactly where Potter and I stand, which has never been on good ground. Conversation during patrols always follows the vein of assignments, or the weather, or other inane chit-chat. And after the drama of this weekend, I’m a more than happy to not have to make awkward small-talk for three hours.

I’m about an hour into my solo patrol, when I see someone walking down the hallway towards me. I freeze when I recognize him as Lachlan.

For one desperate moment, I think about just turning around and walking in the opposite direction, trying to lose him in the castle corridors, but then I decide I’m being stupid. I may not have made up my mind yet about what to say, but I honestly don’t think debating with myself for a week will help at all.

Instead, I go against my instincts and keep walking towards him.

“What are you doing up here?” I ask once he’s within earshot. “Aren’t you meant to be patrolling the dungeons?”

“And aren’t you meant to have a partner?” Lachlan asks, frowning at the empty hall behind me.

I roll my eyes. “Lupin had to use the loo,” I say, not wanting to get my housemate in trouble. “He’ll be back in a minute. You, on the other hand, are two floors away from where you should be.”

He settles his bottle-green eyes on me, and my breath hitches a little. They’re calculating, as though he’s trying to figure out my every thought.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

It’s not even a question, just a statement of fact. I cross my arms, and raise my chin. “And if I have?”

Lachlan shakes his head, and a piece of golden hair falls across his forehead. “Why? Are you that upset that I lost the duel?” The cut on his forehead has been healed, with not even a scar to show for it.

I raise an eyebrow. “You think I care that you lost?”

“Then what is it?”

I sigh, and look around. These hallways are too echoy without anybody in them. If we keep talking out here, the sound is sure to carry. I brush past Lachlan and walk into a nearby classroom, expecting him to follow me. He does, and he shuts the door behind us.

I walk over to the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, brushing my fingers over the wood as I try to rally my thoughts, try to figure where to even start.

“What do you think Potter meant?” I ask. “With what he said to you after the duel?”

Lachlan folds his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow quizzically. “What that, _don’t speak ill_ , nonsense? Who knows? It’s James Potter the Drama Queen, after all. He was just trying to raise a fuss.”

My eyes flick over to him, but I don’t turn my head. “So, you didn’t say anything against anyone? When you two were in the library?”

Lachlan groans. “We’ve been over this, Lily. You know what happened.”

I take a seat on the desk, facing him. “Tell me again.”

“Why?”

“Humour me.”

Lachlan sighs and pushes a hand through his long hair, combing it back from his forehead. “You two had just finished Transfiguration, and he had a free period, I suppose. He was going to the library to work, and I ran into him in the hallway. Since we were going in the same direction, I started walking with him. He found a table, and sat down, asked if I would join him. I said I’d prefer to find somewhere quieter, but before I go, would he mind if I asked him a question? I asked, since he used up a lot of your time with the study sessions, if he would mind letting me join one or two them so you and I could spend a bit of time together. He said he didn’t care either way if I wanted to spend more time with a ‘mudblood like her’. I demanded he take back the comment, he got pissed, said he wouldn’t, hauled off, and broke my nose.”

I frown. “That’s not what you said last time.”

“What?”

“Last time,” I say firmly. “In the hospital wing. You said he wanted to know if you felt as bad as he did after spending time with a mudblood like me. And then you said _you_ punched _him_. And he punched you in retaliation.”

“Right.” Lachlan blinks. “Does it really matter who punched who? I think what he said is a bit more important.”

“It matters because if you aren’t sure who punched first, then maybe other parts of what you told me aren’t entirely correct either.”

Lachlan looks at me incredulously. “What are you saying? Are you calling me a liar?”

“I talked to Potter,” I say, and Lachlan clenches his jaw. “He has a very different version of events.”

“Well who are you going to believe? Your boyfriend, or the scummer you’ve hated for years?”

“Unfortunately for you, his version makes a little more sense,” I say stiffly.

Lachlan’s lip curls. “And what is ‘his version’?”

“That you insulted him and Black,” I say, “which would definitely anger him very quickly. Whereas if you’d asked him to retract a statement, he’d have been more likely to laugh, and tell you to bugger off. And given his reflexes, I doubt you’d actually be able to hit him if you tried.”

“Oh, please.”

“And he also said you claimed we’d had sex, when you know very well that we haven’t.”

That stops him. His eyes dart to the side, and his ears go red.

Well. I suppose I have my answer.

I snort in disgust. “I think we’re done.”

“Lily-”

He takes a step towards me, and I hold up my hand. “No.” I turn towards the door, but just as I reach for the knob, there’s a rush of magic, and the lock clicks into place.

My eyes widen. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re not walking out on me,” he growls, and when I turn to look at him, he’s walking towards me, rapidly closing the distance.

Quickly, I move to put the desk between us, my heart hammering.

“Unlock the door,” I say, my fingers twitching towards my wand.

“Lily-”

He’s getting too close for comfort, so I pull my wand out, but the instant it’s free of my pocket, it’s yanked out of my hand. My wand flies through the air and into Lachlan’s outstretched palm.

“There’s no need for that,” he says angrily. “We’re just talking. Right? There’s no need for magic.”

“Give it back,” I say. My voice trembles and I don’t know whether it’s from fear or anger.

We’re in a locked classroom, there’s no one around, and my wand has been taken. Lachlan stands head and shoulders above me, and is much heavier. I’ve never felt so vulnerable.

But to my immense relief, Lachlan makes no move to round the table.

Yet.

“You know he lied,” Lachlan says sternly. “Tell me that you know he lied.”

“Potter lied,” I agree as convincingly as I can, even though I’m now sure of the opposite. My brain is whirring, trying to think of a way out. “It was stupid of me to doubt you.”

“And you’ll never second guess me again.”

“I won’t,” I agree, and Lachlan takes a step towards me. I take a step back.

“You know, all of this mess could have been avoided if you’d just spent less time with him in the first place.”

“I’ll try to do better in the future,” I say, and Lachlan clears the desk, closing the distance between us. My back hits the wall. “We should get back to rounds,” I say, trying not to show him my fear.

Lachlan reaches out, his fingers skimming along my cheekbone and brushing my hair back behind my ear. “Why? No one will miss us.”

“The professors will notice,” I say, “And Lupin will be back from the loo soon.” Mentioning my partner seems to do the trick.

Lachlan’s expression sours a little, but he nods. He tucks my wand into my robes and gives me a horribly gentle kiss, before stepping back.

“Let’s eat breakfast together tomorrow,” he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. I nod, and he finally leaves, unlocking the door, and leaving it wide open.

As soon as he’s gone, I sag, my knees buckling as I slide down the wall. I burry my face in my arms, trying to get control of my breathing.

A minute passes.

Footsteps pound down the hallway outside, someone sprinting in my direction, and my heart leaps. My head flies up, and I push myself to my feet, gripping my wand tightly.

Remus runs into the room.

“Lily,” he says, panting, his expression full of alarm and concern. I don’t know how he knew I needed him, and right now, I don’t really care.

If it were anyone else, I’d pretend nothing happened. I’d put on a brave face and say I was fine. But it’s Remus Lupin, the gentlest soul I’ve ever met.

And somehow, that’s the thing that undoes me.

I burst into tears.

“Merlin.” Remus hurries over, his hands outstretched in a sign of peace. “I’m so sorry. I should never have left.” He gulps. “Can I touch you?”

I nod, and he pulls me into a hug. I burry my face into his shoulder, weeping silently. I stay there for a moment before pushing him away.

I punch his shoulder. Hard. “Don’t you ever leave me alone again when we patrol,” I choke out, and he nods. I let him pull me back into the circle of his arms, and I burry my face in the crook of his neck, my breaths coming out in shudders.

“Don’t worry,” Remus growls, one gentle hand stroking my hair soothingly. “Tighe’s never going to come near you again.”

I tighten my arms around him. “Don’t tell Potter,” I whisper, “Please.”

He hesitates, but after a moment he whispers, “Alright,” so quietly that I almost miss it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give me a review and let me know what you think! Doesn’t have to be long. You can literally just type an adjective if you like (such as cute, awful, decent, entertaining, etc.)! I will love you forever if you do!  
> Timmins

**Author's Note:**

> I would love it if you took one second and reviewed. You can write one word or one hundred, I just like hearing what you think!  
> Timmins


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